


Auribus Teneo Lupum

by Shiguresan



Series: Auribus Teneo Lupum [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Animal Behaviour, Animalistic, Blood and Gore, Dirty Talk, M/M, Male Lactation, Male Slash, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Submissive Harry, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves, Wolf Pack, beastiality, non-consensual beastiality, torture (not in main pairing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 336,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiguresan/pseuds/Shiguresan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Potter refuse to break under Voldemort’s torture, Greyback senses that he is far too valuable to his species to allow to die. Demanding possession of him, he takes the boy as his own. Unfortunately, the boy refuses to bend or break under him either…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Change of Shackles

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Auribus Teneo Lupum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974592) by [Khalan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalan/pseuds/Khalan)



> Everything in this story is cannon up until the point where the snatchers catch Harry and co. and take them to Malfoy Manor. Instead at this point everyone else escapes and only Harry is caught – also note that Greyback was not one of the people that caught them. That is where this story picks up from. Also, Fenrir is a ‘born’ werewolf, not turned as JKR and cannon explain in various locations. (His history is a tweaked version of what JKR has revealed over time and you will find it out in later chapters). 
> 
> This story will be about 25-28 LONG chapters in length - I already have 22 chapters pre-written and writing the rest as we speak. Will be updated weekly. Please enjoy and review if you have a moment to spare to tell me what you think.

.: Chapter One :.

A Change of Shackles

 

 

 

The darkness of their hopeless world swirled around them, its spiteful bleakness almost audible in their joint silence. The wizarding world’s last hope sat around the long worn table in the basement kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Their hands were folded in front of them, their eyes fixed on the gnarls and scrapes in the aged wood. None of them wanted to put voice to what they were all feeling through their very cores.

 

Without Harry, they were doomed.

 

There were more of the resistance (the Order of the Phoenix) beyond this room of course, but those here were the ones heading the final fleet of light. Ron and Hermione had felt Harry ripped away from them by the snatchers. They had felt his fingers torn from them just as the crack of apparition took them to safety and they had had no choice but to seek help now. Even if Harry wasn’t their best friend and his life hadn’t been their personal priority, there was no point in destroying horcruxes if the only person that could destroy Voldemort was killed, tortured into madness or worse…

 

Hermione bit her lip, fighting back the tears from her eyes before looking around at those seated at the table. The table that they had once all gathered around for a happy Christmas meal. She and Ron were joined by Remus Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, McGonagall, and a large handful of Weasleys including Molly, Arthur, the twins, Charlie, Bill and Fleur – who was almost as pregnant as Tonks.

 

With a deep breath in, Hermione managed to find her words. “We will just have to get Harry back, there is no other option.” Silence followed and then…

 

“He Who Must Not Be Named has a location as impenetrable and unplottable as this building – even more secure, perhaps. We have no idea where it is,” Kingsley began rationally, hastening to continue when he saw arguments brewing on the tongues of their younger members. “I want to save Harry as well, I don’t dare to think what they may be doing to him…”

 

“Harry is the one bloody thing _He’s_ always wanted,” Fred hissed, “we know exactly what he’s doing, humiliating him, degrading him, driving him insane with pain and torment beyond… _anything_.”

 

“And he knows that Harry is the wizarding world’s last hope, he’s sure to…publicise this somehow,” George added with a repulsed shudder. “There’s no way he’ll keep this to himself. He’ll take pleasure in using that method to take Harry's pride from him–”

 

“And the hope from the rest of us useless pillocks,” Ron murmured self-loathingly, the first words he had spoken since he and Hermione had landed on the cold hard ground after apparating and realised Harry wasn’t with them. Hermione placed her hand on his on the table top.

 

Another agonising silence drifted across the dim room briefly.

 

“So vat do ve do zen, if storming ze castle is out of ze question?” Fleur asked tentatively, an elegant had resting on her slight bump. Bill took her hand gently.

 

“The way I see it is there is only one way into Voldemort's stronghold, and that is to be captured ourselves,” Remus began, looking at each of them solemnly in turn, as if preparing them for what he was about to say. “And once we are in there, we won’t be getting back out until the He is dead. As much as I…”

 

The werewolf grit his teeth, his hands shaking where they curled into fists on top of the table. Tonks moved to touch his arm reassuringly, but it seemed nothing could comfort him. “Even though Harry is the world to me, we have to face the fact that the only way we can rescue him successfully is to destroy the remaining horcruxes and then get captured ourselves. Then when _He_ is vulnerable we must help Harry–”

 

“You mean leave Harry there?!” Ron snarled leaping to his feet along with a few others at the table.

 

“You’ve got to be bloody joking!” Fred added.

 

“Sirius would’ve died before leaving Harry there,” George began and Remus leapt to his feet too, his hands crashing down furiously on the wooden table so hard it shuddered on the stone floor.

 

“And Sirius would have _died_ and Harry with him, because of his recklessness!” Remus thundered, his usually calm, quiet voice tearing a little – with worry for Harry. “Do not suggest I care for Harry any less than any of you. I am a great deal older than you. I’ve lost my two best friends in the world to this mad man’s war and I have seen from experience that thinking with my head is the only way to ensure Harry gets out of this alive!”

 

“Well said, Lupin,” a sardonic, low voice interrupted the row.

 

Everyone in the room stopped and whirled where they stood or sat to face the door that they had never heard open, where none other than Severus Snape stood, watching them all stoically. Some of them stood there stunned while others leapt for their wands. Snape merely held up a hand as if that had the power to fend off every curse that they had been about to send his way.

 

“It might behove you to listen for once in your lives, particularly when your enemy has the upper hand on you. The Dark Lord has Potter, I am pivotal to his rescue,” Snape said simply, gesturing with his hands to show he was unarmed – visibly at least. He stepped forward slowly but McGonagall’s wand raised a little more fervently in her shaking hand.

 

“That’s far enough Severus,” she bit out. “Just what do you hope to achieve, _you_ Albus’ murderer striding straight into our midst?”

 

“How did you get here anyway?” Charlie demanded with a sneer.

 

Snape gave that familiar grimace of a smirk. But it was without amusement and tainted with bitterness. “All will become clear once I divulge to you Albus’ master plan that he revealed to none but myself. I give you permission to test my honesty with Veritaserum of course,” he added hastily when some of them were about to argue. “I will answer your question first, however, by telling you that as part of this plan, Albus ensured my invitation to this safe house would remain in the event I might need to abandon our first plan to confront you all – on the strict and only event that Harry was lost somehow, someway. Moody’s _tricks_ were never enough to keep me out, not against Albus’ magic. All bets are off now, even Albus suspected this may happen, though he hoped against it with his dying breath…”

 

“Breath that you stole!” Molly Weasley screeched.

Snape only gave a solemn nod. “That I cannot deny, only explain the reason behind a crime that can never be justified. I will explain that and more, but you must listen to me–”

 

“And why?” Hermione demanded, her voice terse and strong, unwavering in the face of her once professor. “Why should we give you the chance after all you have done? You who loathed Harry most?”

 

The potions master’s face twisted with an unreadable expression before slowly, his thin lips moved with the reply of, “because the only way to save Potter and end this war is to work together, and whether you believe it or not _both_ of those things are my priorities right now. That and finishing the Dark Lord once and for all…”

 

They all stared at each other, wands still poised in their hands as an all too familiar silence fell. None of them knew what to do.

 

*                     *                     *

 

White-hot agony like nothing he had ever felt before lanced his every muscle and bone. The cavernous room he had been hauled into (what seemed like days ago now) was blindingly bright. So bright it hurt his eyes even though they were lidded with exhaustion. And it was cold, icy cold so that every particle of air felt like a stabbing needle in his every pore. It felt like an eternity had passed since they had strung him up here, his wrist bound above him with invisible bonds and his body hanging limply from them, forcing him to balance awkwardly on his knees the balls of his feet.

 

Hermione and Ron had escaped the snatchers, that was what mattered. They had escaped this. They were safe now that Voldemort had what he had always wanted – him. Bound, humiliated and in pain, as naked as the day he was born in front of a hall full of death eaters and their 'Dark Lord'. _Just let it end,_ he thought longingly, over and over again, shoving that desperation for the release of death to the forefront of his mind so that Voldemort could not even glimpse the thoughts that laid behind it.

 

Most of the horcruxes were gone and Ron and Hermione were surely close to destroying the last two. Voldemort evidently hadn't realised the others were gone yet and Harry was determined it would stay that way, he would fight for it with his dying breath.

 

Exhaustion rippled through his bones and he could not help but groan as continuous spasms of anguish ripped up his arms, legs and spine from holding this position for far too long. He wobbled unsteadily, his head lolling to the side. He was so tired. But passing out, relaxing into his bonds or surrendering the tension his muscles for even a moment was out of the question.

 

The bonds that held him painfully in place were laced tightly around his flesh. They were woven around his body, starting from his wrists and downward, down around his arms, throat, chest, his stomach and legs until they tied off at his ankles. The thin, silvery barbed-wire styled constriction bit spitefully into him whenever he so much as shifted to try and alleviate the fiery pain the position imbued his limbs.

 

A grunt left his lips as his body went into spasms in release of the agony and the wire sliced into him as if he were butter, tearing bloody ribbons that oozed and wept blood down his body in thick streams. A dark cackle sounded from ahead of him, where he knew without even opening his eyes that Voldemort was sitting on a throne-like chair, surveying him with rapt attention. As tempting as the idea of death was in face of this torment, his stubbornness and pride would not allow him to simply topple over so that the wires could slice him to pieces – would not allow Voldemort to win.

 

Another high-pitched laugh from ahead of him told him that Voldemort had heard those thoughts. He could not stop Voldemort from getting into his head, but he had been successful so far at shoving the less precious thoughts forwards to hide what he didn’t want the bastard to see. “You are such a precious boy, Harry,” Voldemort breathed in mock-comfort. “But if exhaustion would permit those eyes of yours to open you would see a room full of death eaters around me, each with their own torment in mind for you. You will not win, this is only the beginning.”

 

Harry parted his lips, swallowing hard in an attempt to moisten his dry throat. “S'not…in me to…give up,” he managed out, his voice hoarse and shaky with blood-loss, exhaustion and pain – each of them dragging him ferociously towards unconsciousness. “Or bend…for the likes of _you_!”

 

“Oh, but dear Harry, you don't seem to realise – this is about power, everything is and those with power can _make_ you bend for them,” Voldemort hissed and with a flick of his wrist the wires wrapped around Harry tightened. They tugged him forward hard _,_ folding him flat at the waist so that his nose touched the ground and he was forced into a bow at Voldemort's feet. The wire sliced deeper, gouging great grooves into him. He swore he felt them meet bone in places, felt a rush of blood soaking him and he could not help himself. He screamed.

 

“Oh, yes!” Voldemort hissed with almost orgasmic glee. “I can make you scream boy and bleed and cry for your dead mother but you will not die, not yet. Not until the entire world has seen you quiver and squeal at my feet. Not until they realise that not even their golden boy can defeat Lord Voldemort.” The wire tightened again, forcing Harry's head up a fraction lest it slice into his throat and Harry stared up at those blood red eyes through the tousled, obsidian curtain of his fringe. He glared even as he continued to scream until his throat ached.

 

“That's it, sing for me, little boy. Bella has managed to acquire some _Prophet_ reporters to record your defeat for the public,” the Dark Lord chuckled. Voldemort's leg shifted, a bare, wretched foot hovered under his nose – the very one that had sullied Cedric's body before he was even cold. “Show your contrition for the world to see and I may give you mercy.” He pressed hard at Harry's cheek with his foot and stopped tugging on the bonds to cease Harry's cries. Harry was left gasping for breath, giving dry sobs that he struggled with all his might to bite back. That foot was still pressing against his cheek impatiently. He knew what Voldemort wanted in return for 'mercy', what he had called the _Prophet_ minions here to witness and show to the world…

 

 

Across the hall at the back of the circle of death eaters and heads and shoulders above them all, the owner of two icy-blue eyes watched on. From the second the golden boy's blood had oozed from that honey-tinted flesh, he had been frozen in place, his eyes fixed on the boy the Dark Lord was so gleefully tormenting. He hadn't noticed it before; it was so subtle that even when that blood had been spilt he had only just picked it up above the stench of wizards gathered here in the hall of Malfoy Manor. The Potter boy was a very special one indeed.

 

A smirk touched Greyback's face as Potter used all his strength to snarl and spit at the offensive foot. Voldemort roared with fury, seizing Harry's throat and holding him up from the ground so that their faces were inches apart. Harry cried out again as the blood-stained bonds sliced deeper and deeper into him. Greyback swore he would be cut to pieces any moment now, but the boy sank his teeth into his lip to silence his screams as he glared back into those crimson eyes.

 

“You would have us believe you do not fear death or pain,” Voldemort hissed, “But I know better.” With his other hand he pressed his wand into Harry's throat, plucking the wire digging in there with the tip just to draw a pained gasp from Harry. Harry winced. The wand pressed harder into his already abused flesh. “I'll cut away everything you are, piece by piece until you crumble – and _you will_. What shall be first?” His grip on Harry's throat tightened.

 

“Your nose? An ear? Perhaps I'll start with your fingers…” He trailed his wand worryingly downward, hesitating over a nipple that was flecked with blood already from the lacerations above. “One of these? Or perhaps…lower…” Harry's flaccid penis was just hanging there humiliatingly between his legs for all to see, vulnerable to any torture. He forced himself not to even blink.

 

“Well my loyal followers?” Voldemort offered to those gathered in the large circle. “What shall we do with the wizarding world's chosen one?”

 

The hall erupted into sound, lewd and repulsive suggestions were called out, derisive, spiteful laughter filling the air. Harry swore he was choking on it, suffocating on it all and he closed his eyes tight, preparing for any and all of the tortures about to befall him. But suddenly, a resounding, rasping bark of a voice thundered above them all and sent the grand room plunging into silence. “Give him to me,” the vaguely familiar voice demanded.

 

Voldemort dropped the boy unceremoniously onto the floor, a snarling gasp of pain punctuating the action and the Dark Lord stepped over his captive casually, as if he weren't even there. The circle of death eaters parted as their lord approached, allowing him to see where Fenrir was propped against the wall, his bulky arms folded over his tight, muscled chest. Fenrir surveyed the man casually as he approached with unconcerned azure eyes. Voldemort's wand was hanging limply in those long pallid hands and he gave Fenrir a smile as he stopped a few feet from him.

 

“Fenrir Greyback, an ally that has more than earned my respect,” he said, quite convincingly, as if he trusted him with his life. A feigned display that Fenrir could smell on the very air, but he cared not. He had aligned himself with Voldemort purely because Voldemort had offered lands and dominion over the wizards that had hunted him and his kind for all these years. He was not the man's lacky, what he _was_ was a great asset, perhaps one of the few things that were tipping the scales of this war in Voldemort's favour – and the man knew it.

 

“My friend, what would you do with the Potter boy?” the Dark Lord asked with a peculiar lilt to his voice. “What can possibly interest you? Why, he doesn't even have any meat on his scrawny, underdeveloped frame to tempt your appetite for young flesh.”

 

Fenrir did not even blink at this. His tendency to enjoy tumbles with teenage boys and girls and the way he stole young from their inadequate human parents to turn them, to take them for his own pack now and again had spurred rumours that he liked to devour human children. He may even have let a comment or two slip to aid the amusing rumours. He was perfectly happy with that reputation; it let everyone know what he was about before they even met him. He was powerful, merciless and inhuman. He snorted and turned his head slightly to look upon the fallen, naked boy over Voldemort's shoulder. He was still, Fenrir noticed, not wasting energy struggling and losing more blood, but waiting for a chance…

 

He was a born fighter, far superior to the wizards gathered in the circle right now that were fidgeting uncomfortably and positively stinking of fear. Oh, the boy smelled of fear too and pain but he was baring his teeth against it, refusing to surrender. He liked that. “Werewolves can't bear young,” Fenrir said simply after a moment of inhaling the scent of the boy's defiance. “The mother's moon cycle forces her to change once a month and so kills the child with all the shifting innards. That’s known. That’s why we steal human children and turn them for ourselves. But witches and wizards can bear our young for us if they have the recessive lycanthrope gene.

 

“They are immune to the venom in our fangs and claws and the immunity in their veins means that we can breed them and never accidentally turn them into one of us. There aren't many that carry the gene left after all those raids the Ministry executed on our kind when they first came into power, but my mother was one. He brought me into the world a pure-blooded wolf more in tune with my senses, more powerful and faster than a turned werewolf. And that boy is one,” he finished, indicating the boy laying in a pool of his own blood on the floor.

 

There was silence and then from the broken circle a death eater spoke. Macnair, Fenrir thought his name was. “Such nonsense. Fairytales werewolves tell their young. There is no being alive that can successively bear werewolf young, the beast would tear them apart from the inside out–”

 

“Our young do not have fangs or claws in their transformed state for some time. They don’t even go through the change until they see their twelfth moon – beyond the womb,” Fenrir corrected gruffly, his eyes glowing as they turned on the circle challengingly before looking back to Voldemort. “The boy carries the recessive gene, I want him, My Lord and if I am wrong, then my venom will turn him as soon as I so much as nick him. And you can have him back and watch him tear himself apart with confusion and starvation at the full moon.”

 

Those crimson eyes surveyed him carefully, as if considering his words and calculating his own response with considerable care. _Wisely so,_ Fenrir thought as he stared back, unyielding, sensing the Potter boy's consciousness waning. He was losing a lot of blood, he realised distractedly.

 

“I cannot allow the other side to get him back,” Voldemort said after a moment. “He is valuable bait and ransom. His capture has crushed any resistance they have held so far, and what is more the brat has a tendency to cause havoc when left to his own devices. I regret that I cannot give him to you, Fenrir.”

 

Greyback raised a brow. “But as I understand it, your chief concern is that he not be allowed to escape, trust me, not even the golden boy can outrun me, especially not now I have discovered how infinitely valuable he is to me. He will not be escaping from me and his little friends won't even know I have him. You want this boy held but you don't want him to cause trouble? Believe me, after a moon with me he won't run, he won't even be able to leave my side. The perfect prisoner.” He watched Voldemort calculate all he had said carefully, his fingers twisting around his wand thoughtfully as he contemplated them.

 

Across the hall, the boy writhed in anguish as he struggled onto his knees, gasping for breath, his hair hanging over his eyes. He'd been here for nearly three weeks now and hadn't broken, it was admirable, that kind of foolhardy courage and pride. Exactly what he had dreamed of conquering in his bed. Without looking away from him, he spoke to Voldemort once more. This was getting tedious – he would have the boy regardless and if these tactics to avoid a troublesome skirmish failed and Voldemort still refused…

 

“He is far too stubborn and proud to break under this kind of torture,” Fenrir continued, “Give him to me, my Lord, let me claim him and you will see him conquered and the last of the other side’s resolve will crumble.”

 

Voldemort turned to look at the boy now. The Dark Lord was every bit as proud as the boy, Fenrir thought and that allowed the Dark Lord to understand fully how unlikely it was that the boy would break under pain. Seeing Voldemort's mind at work Fenrir added, “You know what power I wield, my Lord. You know that any werewolf pack in this country will move at my command, I have made this power yours by allying with you. I think that earns me privilege enough to claim what is mine by nature without a fight?”

 

He had never spoken so formally nor so much to any wizard. It would be simpler if he could take the boy without a struggle and not risk him getting even more injured – he needed him healthy, after all. But this was the last of his chivalry. The Potter boy was his whether Voldemort _permitted_ it or not.

 

“Oh, you have earned it well and will do so countless times in the years ahead, no doubt,” Voldemort said with snake-like softness and cunning. He was not a coward, this wizard but he still knew better than to wrong him. Fenrir was sure that if any other person had asked for the boy, he would have refused outright and possibly punished the asker for their sheer audacity.

 

"If the boy is as you say, yours there is simply no way I can refuse." Voldemort’s voice was filled with feigned politeness and camaraderie. It made Fenrir's skin itch. He remained still, however. Even when Voldemort glided back towards Potter and pulled him up by his throat with a hiss of, _“Relashio!”_

The bonds fell away and Potter was left hanging limply off the ground, choking and spluttering but too weak with the loss of blood to raise his arms to fight. His eyes were open still, however, staring unyieldingly into Voldemort's with unconcealed rebellion and hatred. “I think you can understand my desire for reassurance, however. I know that you will not mind swearing on this brat's blood that you will not allow him to escape and that in a few months time you will bring him to me – conquered. You will have him kneel before me – perhaps with your whelp in his belly.”

 

The man was clever. To swear on the boy’s blood would mean if Fenrir tried to keep him for himself and go back on their deal, the boy would die anyway – Voldemort would not risk the enemy getting their hero back for anyone.

 

Fenrir wondered if the boy had even heard the exchange and watched the crimson rivulets dribble down that pale skin. The boy needed attention before he died from blood-loss. It was a tribute to his inner magic and strength that he had not keeled over already. “And once he has kneeled before you, I will take him away again and do with him as I please,” Fenrir said, making sure that was clear. “I am going to claim him as mine, mate him. I think you know what that means to a werewolf.”

 

Voldemort gave a slow, twisted smile. “Yes, unfortunately for dear Harry, _life_. As long as you do not let him escape and swear it now, you can do what you want with him.” He paused and then dragged his wand through the deepest cut across Harry's chest, twisting the tip in the wound until Harry gasped. “So will you swear it?” he asked casually.

 

Exhausted with this display, Fenrir stalked over to him, ignoring the flinches from the circle gathered around them and bringing a single claw to his boy's wound where Voldemort's wand was biting into the flesh cruelly. “On his life I swear,” he growled out, having absolutely no intention of letting this boy's life end any time soon. He was a find indeed, an asset to his pack, reputation and power. Voldemort need not have concerned himself with Potter's escape, Fenrir had no intentions of letting him go. “I will take him now.”

 

There was a moment when Voldemort's fingers dug deeper into the boy's throat, as if he would not release him, but those crimson eyes met Fenrir’s and at last, he let go. Fenrir caught the boy's limp body before he hit the ground and pulled the bloody form to his chest with one burly arm under the boy's knees and the other behind his back. He was ice cold and shaking – barely conscious but definitely still there. His head was hanging limply on his shoulders like that of a broken puppet.

 

He'd managed to win him without an all-out war with the Dark Lord, he was Fenrir's priority now. _And the only person that will spill any of that precious blood is me_ , he thought. “Thank you, my Lord,” he forced out, managing to hold back a sneer. No one was _his_ Lord. “I will see to him and then begin the journey back to my pack–”

 

“Someone can heal the boy and apparate you both back to your territory, Fenrir,” Voldemort offered with false chivalry. Fenrir struggled not to sneer again and shook his head. Just a few more moments of politeness to get out of here with his prize not suffering any further harm. Just a few more minutes of resisting the temptation of ripping the Dark Lord's head off…

 

“I like to do things the werewolf way. I will await your next summons,” he said, before heading towards the door. The thought of letting their repulsive magic near him or carry him even for a second made his skin crawl. As he left the circle, he snapped at the pale blond boy who looked as if he wanted to hide himself as much as possible, “You, this is your house. Show me to a washroom where I can clean the boy.” The Malfoy brat looked up to his father, who avoided his eye, leaving him to move forwards and frantically lead the way out of the cavernous room.

 

After a few minutes of following the boy down a long, dimly lit hallway lined with tapestries and robust decor in slytherin's colours, Fenrir barked, “I hope you're grateful that I gave you an excuse to get out of there boy – you looked like you might faint if the Potter boy spilled anymore blood.”

 

Malfoy swallowed hard and risked a glance up at the unmoving cargo in Fenrir's arms as the werewolf fell into stride beside him. Fenrir knew what the boy was thinking without him saying a word. Potter was as Voldemort had said, a beacon of hope in this war and seeing him fall had no doubt quashed what little hope for an end the Malfoy brat had possessed.

 

“Not used to seeing Potter lose, that's all,” Malfoy murmured, trying to sound unaffected, indifferent and failing. He kept his eyes ahead as he added quietly, “He has an irritating habit of triumphing over whatever he faces. He always wins everything, including peoples’ adoration.”

 

Fenrir chuckled, following the blond into a room off the hall that proved to be a large lavishly fitted washroom with gleaming black marble from floor to ceiling and gold fittings. Extravagance to every extreme, he expected no less from a family like the Malfoys.

 

“He'll have to get used to someone else coming out on top from now on,” Fenrir snorted, approaching the large sunken bath. He only just refrained from leaping back in surprise when a dozen ornate gold taps burst into life, rapidly filling the tub with smooth, foaming water that smelled reassuringly of tea tree oil and had a healing glimmer to it. That would help him to tend to his boy.

The other boy, meanwhile, was still standing there, staring at the limp body in his arms, the still semi-conscious Potter. “Make yourself useful and fetch me his clothes,” he barked at the Malfoy-child, shrugging out of his cloak and his low-riding trousers whilst still holding his boy to is chest awkwardly. He was so cold. He didn't want to lay him on the cold marble floor.

 

Malfoy stood there for a moment as if he hadn't heard him before turning and vanishing out the door, which closed silently behind him. Fenrir grumbled at his peculiarity and stepped down into the tub with his barely conscious boy in his arms. It felt odd, being so careful, holding something so fragile.

 

The warm water sloshed against his chest, the flow from the taps ceasing as he laid that slender, lightly muscled body back so that it was floating on the water with the aid of Fenrir’s broad arms supporting his back and head above the surface. The boy gave a soft, unintelligible groan as the soothing water swept over him, a sound caught between relief and pain.

 

Fenrir gave a soothing, reverberating growl and bowed his head to the boy's chest, lapping at the deep lacerations slowly, tentatively. The boy groaned in half-pain again, still not aware of his surroundings and when Fenrir lifted his head he was pleased to see that his saliva (as predicted) had healed the wounds on the boy's torso so that the once spiteful gashes had reverted to mere pinkish coloured blemishes on that honey-hued skin.

 

Those marks would be gone by morning, thanks to the healing properties of his spittle but Fenrir knew the boy would be far from grateful. He smirked at that and bowed his head again, awkwardly holding Potter above the water to tend to the rest of his wounds.

 

At last when that tight, taut flesh was healed except for the bloody mars across that slender throat, Fenrir pulled the boy to his body so that he could feel that chest against his own and leant that dark head back gently, massaging the base of the boy's skull while his mouth eased away the last of the bleeding gashes. This was part of the ritual courting of a mating partner. If either partner was wounded, this was the only way they should be healed, it was how it was done, it brought them closer to the time when they could complete their union – it furthered their connection.

 

Potter was breathing softly, as if in light sleep when Fenrir lifted his mouth that final time and though he saw that brow still furrowed as before, Fenrir could sense that he was out of danger now. _Still weak but more than ready._ He growled softly again, sniffing at the hollow of the boy's chest, grazing the area with his teeth in approval; satisfied that the water had cleaned them both. He scored a path up over that neck, taunting the boy's adam's apple gently with a canine before settling his mouth on the juncture of that shoulder.

 

Their next destination was his territory of course, but he was not stupid enough to risk dragging a prize as valuable as the boy around with him unmarked. He would draw attention to himself just by being at Fenrir's side, and of course, once Fenrir bit him (he would not leave it to chance that someone else might taste that flesh first), his body would become aware of its buried werewolf instincts. It would begin to prepare itself for conception, for its first heat – would give out the scent of being ready and fertile. He would ensure the world would know he was claimed before he took so much as a step more.

 

With another reassuring growl that came to him on instinct more than anything else, he bathed that soft juncture between shoulder and throat with his tongue, anesthetising the flesh for what was to come. Below him, he felt the boy's skin growing hot, flushing beautifully and not only because of the warm bath water. He heard his boy give the smallest of confused groans and sucked firmly on the damp area of flesh before sinking his fangs in. It wasn't a deep bite, just enough to mark and he lapped at the place where he'd pierced his intended, quickly healing it before the blood even had chance to flow. But this mark would not vanish entirely.

 

Lifting his head he was pleased to see a purplish-red bruise forming that would eventually fade into a purple-opalescent scar – Fenrir's claiming mark. _And it'll become a mating mark when he bites me in return and completes our union,_ he thought with a grin of the times that lay ahead. His instincts thrummed excitedly. He hadn't bedded one so young and ripe for so long…

 

As luck would have it, the Malfoy brat returned the second Fenrir was out of the bath, towelling his boy down. The blond just stood there watching him (or Potter, more accurately) holding out a pair of black cotton trousers and a pale green shirt. “It's all I have that will fit him, he's always been shorter than most of us at school,” he murmured, jumping slightly when Fenrir snatched the garments from him, dressing the still limp body as quickly as possible to give the Malfoy-brat as little time to stare at his boy as he could.

 

“If I didn't know any better I'd say you fancy him, the way you seem to know so much about him – the way you _watch him._ Hardly the kind of obsessive compulsion I would expect of an alleged enemy,” Fenrir accused sharply. At this Malfoy only looked away.

 

“Careful. People have a nasty habit of falling in love with Potter – of feeling they need to make silly mistakes and sacrifices because of him-”

 

“Just who do you think you're talking to, boy?” Fenrir snarled warningly. “Don't presume to warn me about a thing. I am a pure-blooded werewolf – and an alpha at that! I'm not vulnerable to mortal feelings, much less to the influence of a boy that is barely a man.” He wrapped his fur cloak around Potter's body then and tugged on his own trousers, heading for the door with the _Chosen One_ in his arms again. The suggestion that anyone, even his soon to be mate could control him sent a shiver of fury through his bones. No one controlled him, even his service to the Dark Lord was only at his whim.

 

“Whatever rebellious nature has ruled him before, he will learn to respect and obey me. In the end he'll be a docile little creature just like you,” Fenrir taunted him, smirking when he saw the blond glance away awkwardly. “Oh, you'd make a good werewolf's bitch,” he goaded him, revelling in the scandalised look on that pale, pointed face. “You like the idea of that, don't you? A werewolf's pallet would be better than being here, under the Dark Lord's thumb, eh?” He bared his long, strong white teeth in a derisive grin. He’d forgotten how delicious it was to tease young wizards like these.

 

The blond ran.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Thick waves of unbearable, throbbing agony were what greeted Harry’s senses first as he awoke. He hadn’t even opened his eyes but already his body ached as if recovering from being pounded by the meaty, unforgiving fists of giants. It made him groan aloud, his dry throat rasping slightly with the sound. And yet the spiteful, blinding sharp pain was gone. As if the lacerating wire-like bonds had never been.

With another groan, Harry forced his limbs to stretch slightly and felt each of his fingers and toes, both legs and arms still fully in tact. In tact and no longer strung up like a puppet’s limbs. When at last he opened his eyes, he was surprised to not only find his glasses on his face, but also to see the great expanse of rich wooden beams above and inhale the smell of warm dry straw. A barn?

“Awake at last I see,” a low, gruff voice said. His eyes widened. He knew that voice. His head snapped to the side, his neck creaking in negation at the fast movement. He was in a barn alright. Rays of pale light streamed through the cracks in the wood and the open doors he was laid near. He was on a bed of straw with a cloak of fur cast over him like a blanket. Just beyond the threshold, out of reach of the flammable hay a fire was burning with the mouth-watering smell of food drifting from the puffs of smoke. And there kneeling by the fire, watching him with shadowed blue eyes was Fenrir Greyback.

 

Harry bolted upright where he lay. A hiss of pain broke through his clenched teeth. Oh yes, his wounds had miraculously healed, but his body was still recovering from his ordeal. How long had he been in Voldemort’s grasp? The weak trembling in his limbs and unbearable hunger pangs in his belly told him a long time.

 

“Fenrir Greyback,” he breathed, staring at the werewolf in horror. How had he got here? Why was he Greyback’s prisoner now? The last he had remembered Voldemort had threatened to cut off his fingers, toes, his ears, his cock and now…

 

“Well done boy,” Greyback smirked, turning his attention back to the food cooking in the pan. Harry's stomach rumbled. This was almost worse torture than the _Cruciatus_. He was so hungry, more than he had ever been at Privet Drive. Greyback didn’t say anything to his rumbling innards, however.

 

“Where am I?” he demanded, trying to clear the hoarse exhaustion from his voice. “Where’s… _He_?” he would have to remember that name was taboo. “What the hell do you–?”

 

“Intend to do with you?” Fenrir cut across him, his smirk widening. “Whatever I want. I wondered how much you'd remember when you woke up at last. It's less than I'd thought.”

 

Harry stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Then he remembered. “You asked _Him_ to give me to you,” he said, watching those eyes smoulder with a dark, heated emotion he had never seen before and couldn't indentify. “And he said _yes_?!”

 

“I didn’t ask him, boy, I _told him_ ,” Greyback replied gruffly, “The asking was a mere courtesy, I would have had you, permission or not. You're mine.” He punctuated his words by piercing the food in the pan over the fire with a long-pronged fork and shifted the sausages, bacon and two eggs over onto the plate that lay waiting near his feet. He must've been able to feel Harry watching that food, Harry thought. The smell of food had lulled his brain into sleepy longing but it was only a few moments later that he realised what the wolf had just said.

 

“Yours?” he demanded heatedly.

 

Those teeth were still exposed in a grin as the wolf picked up the plate and stood slowly. Harry hadn't realised just how huge the werewolf was before now. He was tall, head and shoulders above him and the broad muscles of his suntanned arms and chest were clearly visible as he stood there with only loose, grey trousers on that were hanging off his hips.

 

Harry swallowed nervously despite himself. He wasn't a coward, he wasn't afraid but he'd have to be a fool not to realise how intimidating Greyback was. He could rip his throat out with a single movement.

 

“Mine,” Greyback confirmed coming to stand over him, his icy eyes locked on his with ravenous heat. Harry could not help but shudder inwardly. “You forgot a lot of things about last night, boy. Lucky I took precautions and laid a mark on you that would remind you.” He dropped to his haunches before Harry then, still towering over him and set the plate heavy with food aside to run a finger over the angry pink scar that marked the boy's throat.

 

Sharp bursts of dizzying pleasure erupted from that place and spiralled through his body, shaking it with spasms of pleasure – the kind he had never even dreamed of. He couldn't help but give a throaty groan. Before the sounds had even died on his lips he grasped the fur covering him and shot backwards, as far into the firm bed of hay as he could go to escape Greyback. The wolf remained in a half-kneeling position, still seemingly amused by Harry's confusion.

 

“What did you do to me?!” Harry half-gasped, half-snarled, his fingers curling so tightly into the fur that his knuckles turned white. “What was that?!”

 

“That is a claiming mark, boy, _my_ claiming mark telling the world that I have initiated courtship with you. That you're mine. That you'll be my mate soon enough and they're to keep their paws off of you." His voice was low and rumbling still, and honest, Harry could tell. He felt the colour drain from his own face. He still maintained Hermione was the best in their year, but he’d done well enough in Defence Against the Dark Arts to know what that meant. Especially on the topic of werewolves, thanks to Snape’s hatred of Remus…

 

Harry stared at him for a moment, teetering on panic. “I… You’re _lying_!” he growled and without a wand he threw his arm up, sending his fist flying for Greyback’s face. The wolf caught his wrist easily in a mighty grip. Harry snarled. Those icy eyes glazed over with pensiveness as lethal fangs greeted him with a smile broader than before.

 

A spiral of almost electric heat bolted from the place their skin touched to spread like wildfire through his body. He could not help but gasp at the unadulterated strength of it. Managing to turn the gasp into a hiss, however, he wrenched his arm back, cheeks suffused with colour at that all too personal heat that still rippled through him. But that smirk was still there. It made Harry grind his teeth furiously.

 

“I know you felt it, that undeniable heat when we touched? It’s friction, from two forces crashing together, like opposite ends of a magnet,” Greyback explained slowly. “We’re bound together now, a werewolf’s betrothal if you will…”

 

Harry swayed slightly, that rasping bark of a voice had become so… _hypnotising_ with those most recent words. Or perhaps it was just the onset of starvation making him wobble.

 

Seeming to realise he had all of Harry’s attention now; Greyback released his grip on his arm, and pushed the plate of food towards Harry. “Eat your food, I’m not used to cooked meat but delicate little humans like you need it as I understand.” He watched as Harry considered it for a moment. Eventually, Harry pulled the plate towards him. His stomach grumbled treacherously.

 

“You think I don’t know what this is?” Harry accused.

 

“I hope so,” Greyback sneered, “even a muggle-raised simpleton knows food when he sees it surely?”

 

“It’s poison!”

 

“You’re far too useful to poison–”

 

“And why mark me anyway? Why me? Just for the hell of it? I’m hardly _that_ desirable!” Harry snapped, disbelieving everything about this situation, it was a trick of Voldemort’s, a trap – it must be!

 

Greyback grunted in irritation then, reaching forward and catching his throat firmly in his grasp, holding but not throttling or squeezing. The coarse digits roughly stroked Harry’s throat and the forefinger caressed his chin, both while the thumb rubbed his collarbone thoughtfully. _What is he doing?_ He frowned at the pleasantness of that hand around his vulnerable neck and glared even more virally at the wolf.

 

He was a tad different to how he had been last Harry saw him, freshly escaped from Azkaban and partly submerged in the shadows of the Astronomy Tower that night Dumbledore had died. The once matted hair and whiskers were tamed somewhat. His hair was still silver and long down past his shoulders but it was clean, and that wayward facial hair was trimmed neatly to his face. Despite his vastly improved appearance though, Harry was more disgusted than ever.

 

This beast, this murderer of the innocent – the werewolf who had turned Remus – had decided to ruin his, Harry’s life now as well? This thing was touching him, staring at him in a way so primal and sexual it made Harry’s stomach clench. _And he’s done something to me – marked me so that my bloody body enjoys all of it, even if it makes me feel sick!_

 

Wrenching his head to the side he struggled to escape that grasp, but Greyback’s grip held strong and the long nails, no claws at his throat and chin scraped warningly as they continued to caress his flesh. Flesh that tingled with treacherous pleasantness.

 

“That bite mark on your neck means you’re my pack now – it means I’m your alpha, and it will tell you to obey. You will try to resist but the part of me inside you that _wants_ me will fight to make you listen. Strong-willed as you are, you may even be able to resist that nature’s urging, but you will not be able to lie to me, nor I you.”

 

The wolf pulled Harry up slightly so that his face was a few mere hairsbreadths from his own, his humid breath fogging up Harry’s glasses. “Look at me boy, you know I’m not lying, you can feel it in your bones. You’re mine. When I bit you, I woke a part of you that would have slept on without me, the lycanthrope recessive gene.”

 

It was true. Harry could feel it. He knew this was the truth the same way he’d known that the man and woman looking back at him in the Mirror of Erised, all those years ago were his mother and father. Harry’s eyes widened. “Lycan, as in–?”

 

“As in werewolf. As in it has been part of your bloodstream since birth and I smelt it in the copious amounts of blood painting the Dark Lord’s floor yesterday,” Greyback growled softly, his coarse fingers still petting his chin and throat mesmerizingly. “As soon as I smelt it I knew I had to have you. Such a rare treasure.”

Harry’s hands flew up to Greyback’s wrist, locking onto the meaty hand and scraping, tugging, clawing for freedom like a panicked animal. “And what the hell makes that so bloody appealing?”

 

Greyback leant in even closer, inhaling him deeply as if his bare flesh were emitting the finest perfume beneath the furs. “You can take more damage than a normal wizard, surely you noticed? Your core magic is temperamental but stronger. As one of the only humans with the recessive gene you’re the only one that can give me pure, _live_ werewolf cubs. And powerful offspring at that if the magic strumming your veins like a flippin’ guitar is anything to go by.” He leant in even more and sniffed deeper. “Oh yeah, I can smell the power, the possibilities, the desire, the innocence. The perfect mate. I can’t wait to breed you.”

 

At first he was simply stunned, reeling from shock at that statement, at the unveiling of such shocking truths. Then fury and fear and fire all rose in Harry all at once. "I’m not some werewolf bitch you can control, instincts or no,” he snapped, glaring up at him vehemently. “I didn’t kneel to Voldemort and I won’t kneel to you.” He scoffed aloud, glowering darkly.

 

“ _‘Breeding’_? I’ll rip the thing out of me before I _ever_ give birth to anything with _any_ part of you in it. I’m a bloody _man_! Not a brood-mare or whatever the dog alternative is.” The sentence felt strange to his tongue, given that he had only just realised he had the ability to do such a thing but he had always been quick at adapting and he brushed the peculiarity aside. He could feel that Greyback wasn’t lying.

 

The smirk finally faded from that face and the werewolf stood slowly, towering over Harry. “You’ve got a nasty temper, boy,” he murmured, voice coarse and rasping. “You suit me perfectly.” With another unintelligible grunt he pushed the steaming food towards Harry a little more firmly. “I don’t eat this rubbish. Eat, there’s little enough of you as it is.”

 

Harry simply stared at the plate, his stomach groaning desperately at the sight and smell of it.

 

“I told you, you’re too useful to me to kill – and besides, poison is hardly my style,” Greyback flashed his white teeth before stomping back over to the fire and sitting down beside it, the firelight flickering, dancing across his features. Harry watched him tentatively, before pulling the plate towards him. He was too starving to care about pride and besides; he’d need his energy to escape…

 

 

A thick mist had rolled in and settled over the wilderness surrounding the barn as the night waned and dawn broke feebly on the horizon. Harry had laid down at some point in the fur and straw but had not slept a wink. He'd been waiting, watching and it seemed at last Greyback had dozed off beside the dead, still lightly smoking fire. He was breathing lightly and hadn't moved at all for some time. _And he's not watching me,_ Harry thought as he sat up slowly. He had felt those icy eyes on him all night, devouring him and if it had finally stopped, it could only be because Greyback had fallen into slumber.

 

Thanks to all the practice sneaking around in his school days, he slid slowly, silently to his feet. His limbs shook weakly, still not completely recovered from his torture at Voldemort's hands but he did not so much as allow the fur or straw that had been his bed to stir a sound.

 

The tips of his toes carried him across the threshold of the barn and then over the grass away from the campsite the wolf had evidently made for them. _Made for me,_ his mind corrected. _Because he's initiated werewolf courtship with me, because he wants me as his mate_. He remembered his lessons on werewolves well, had learned enough about their mating habits to know that the pursued would be able to sense the suitor's intentions and if they were dishonest. Greyback was a brute and a murderer, a foul beast but he hadn't lied.

 

He _was_ what Greyback had said, a human with the lycanthrope recessive gene. Greyback wanted him because he was the wolf's only chance of having – Harry shuddered – live werewolf young. But he also knew that would mean any other unmated werewolf he came across would be after his arse. That was why Greyback had marked him, to warn off others. _Marked me like his favourite tree he likes to piss up,_ he thought wretchedly, just as he reached the line of trees that formed the border of the forest surrounding them.

 

He didn't care if Greyback had essentially rescued him from Voldemort, he wasn't going to have his life decided for him, have every shred of pride and masculinity stripped away to fulfil Greyback's whims. Did that fool really think he was going to spread his legs and make nice little werewolf cubs with him? _I'm not a fawning werewolf bitch who'll bend for him,_ he thought furiously. _I'm not his and I will never let him take me!_

_Snap!_

 

Harry froze. In his mental tirade he had slipped up, had laid a toe down just a fraction too hard and a twig had cracked underfoot. He inhaled deeply, holding his breath and listened. Greyback's sleeping breaths had halted. Harry swallowed hard. He ran. He bolted into the forest, careless of his nudity and weaved frantically between the trees, his heart hammering like a hummingbird's in his chest. He gasped for air as he flew, the undergrowth and hanging branches reaching out and snagging at his vulnerable flesh. The fog was thick. His sight only reached a few feet ahead but he couldn't stop. He couldn't let Greyback catch him.

 

Suddenly, a snarl ripped through the air somewhere to his left, his only warning before a huge silver beast burst through the veil of fog and slammed into him, pinning him hard to the ground. Harry grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. Two huge front paws rested on his shoulders while the creature's back legs straddled his own. He winced.

 

Greyback towered over him, and unlike a werewolf whose blood was tainted by wolf's bane, he was meatier, stronger and more wolf-like in appearance than werewolves like Remus, who clung to their humanity so hard it tainted their appearance. This could have easily been a normal wolf, only bigger, it's eyes piercing blue, it's fangs sharp and crisp white. It was more ferocious than anything Harry had ever seen.

 

“Let me go!” Harry gasped, but as he struggled the beast only pressed harder on his shoulders until he stilled again. Harry glared up at him. “I'll never be what you want! I'll never lay back and accept you or your plans for me! You can rape me and chase me but I'll never stop fighting you or fighting to escape and I'll _never_ allow anything of yours to grow in my body!” His voice was shaking with breathlessness, fear and anger alike, but he didn't care.

 

At that moment, the wolf merged grotesquely back into the large man that had watched him from the fireside. He was naked and as strong as he'd been in wolf form, pinning him down to the unforgiving ground with powerful arms as he stared down at him. That silvery hair hung over those huge shoulders in a haphazard curtain and Harry winced inwardly at the thought that his limp prick was tightly sandwiched beneath the man's body.

 

Greyback growled deeply, warningly as he leant in, his face scant inches from Harry's. “You’re mine, so behave your dainty little self or I’ll offer you up to those who’d do worse than ‘rape’ you…”

 

He meant the remaining death eaters, _Voldemort_ …

 

“There’s nothing worse than being stuck with you,” Harry glared, spitting in the wolf’s face. A snarl broke through his bravado then, however. He was shaken like a rag doll before those talons unhooked from one shoulder. A large fist collided hard with his cheek, sending his head flying to the side. Blood drooled from his broken lip as he righted his dislodged spectacles.

 

“I’ve faced nastier, stronger brutes than you,” he growled to the misty forest, his face still throbbing with agony. “You act as if you’re doing me a favour in raping me? I remember you! You offered to kill Dumbledore in Malfoy’s stead! You only saved me from Voldemort to use me as some sort of... _breeding entity_. What if I don't bloody want to have children, much less carry them? For a werewolf no less? What if I don't fancy sleeping with a man? Especially one reputed to eat children? You'll probably eat your children even if you did have any!"

 

Suddenly, those two meaty arms slammed into the floor either side of him and that massive weight was on his chest. His body tensed in apprehension of the pain but he did not fear pain. He feared rape, loathed, dreaded the reactions that were drug out of him, but he was more than accustomed to pain, had been for some time…

 

“You bully people to get what you want, you threaten them, but I don’t care. If it's a choice between being your whore and _His_ prisoner I'd choose him over you any day! So hand me back to him because I'll kill whatever spawn you put in me the second your back is turned!”

 

A sharp growl filled the forest now and Harry could not help but flinch as Greyback leant in, their noses almost touching. “I can smell the innocence on you, boy, you haven't killed so much as a gnat. There's no way in hell you'd kill your own child–”

 

“It'd live a life of murder and bloodshed and pain if it lived,” Harry hissed, “I call that a mercy killing.”

 

Just then, Greyback's hand shot down to his flat belly, pressing firmly, almost painfully there. “And I call that the sound of a jumped up bitch who needs to learn a bit more of their new world before they make such rash judgements. You wouldn't kill a child if it was sired by _Grindelwald_ himself.” He leant back on his haunches, still pinning Harry to the floor with one hand on his wrists while the other ghosted over the large red mark that showed where he had struck Harry a moment ago.

 

“I don't think you realise exactly what this situation entails,” he growled huskily, his eyes surveying Harry's naked torso hungrily. “This isn’t about prisoners or rape or murder and even werewolves don't eat their young, shock you though that might.”

 

Harry merely glared up at him, obstinately silent as the wolf went on. “I’m pursuing you the traditional way, seducing you, winning you – others aren’t so… _traditional_. They’d take you, willing or not–”

 

“As if you care if I’m willing,” Harry spat, wincing when Greyback applied more pressure to his wrists to silence him. The other hand trailed down slowly as that gaze held his, the backs of those knuckles caressing the skin over Harry’s heart warningly. It hammered even more fiercely in his chest. He held his breath.

 

“You’re bare as the day you were born beneath me and I haven’t dispatched with your virginity yet have I?” Greyback growled impatiently. “I found you shelter. I healed your wounds. I filled the hole in your belly and you insult me by insinuating I don’t give a shit?”

 

“Please,” Harry snarled, “don’t make it sound like you’re the saint here. You marked me for your own ends. If I hadn’t been a…a recessive lycanthrope or _whatever_ you’d have happily stood by and watched me bleed to death at Voldemort’s feet. You saved me because it _suited_ you to. Yet you wonder why I’m hesitant in trusting you?”

 

Greyback leant back then, loosening his hold on Harry but not releasing him entirely. “You don’t have to trust me or want me, that’s what the courting period is for. You _will_ trust me and want me, very much and by the time you bind yourself to me as my mate fully, it will be willingly. Be grateful, others might not consider your consent as something important.”

 

Harry snorted disbelievingly and turned his head to the side, refusing to allow the werewolf the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. Especially since the bite on his neck, the connection it forged created a knowledge in Harry that once again, Greyback was telling the truth.

 

“I’ll never willingly bind myself to a murderer or become something I’m not by getting _pregnant –_ much less with a murderer’s children,” Harry assured him bluntly. “Even if you worship my backside for the rest of eternity it won’t change what you are. How many people have you killed?”

 

“A fair few,” Greyback answered in a ‘deal with it’ tone. He smirked. “You’re making this easier to take by painting your image of the blood-thirsty, cold-blooded monster I see,” he replied casually, amused.

 

“I don’t need to paint anything – even if you deny luring children into the woods and devouring them alive as the rumours say, you’ve still killed people – dozens, maybe hundreds!”

 

Greyback growled lowly. “You’re only _just_ out of boyhood, don’t speak of things you don’t understand. That was war. There are always casualties… Men killed far more werewolves than I killed humans.” With that, he stood, releasing Harry and leaving him to flush awkwardly upon catching sight of him naked in all his glory. Harry scrambled to his feet, determinedly keeping his gaze averted. His cheeks burned.

 

“You’ll be waiting an eternity for me to be willing,” Harry swore, looking around then at the forest that was almost completely swallowed in thick, white furls of fog. He knew what Greyback had planned for him, what he intended and yet Harry still felt unbelievably overwhelmed by the unknown.

 

There was no way in hell the most wanted magical beast in the country was content to sit back and seduce him into compliance. There was more than that in store. He shivered slightly, covering himself awkwardly in realising he was naked in more than one way and facing an abyss of anonymous madness. At least he’d known what to expect from Voldemort.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	2. Moon Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so everyone who took the time to leave a few words of encouragement or praise or kudos :) I am so glad you liked the first chapter. I was so nervous about posting as this story has been hidden away on my laptop for so long. Hope you like this next chapter just as much!

.: Chapter Two :.

Moon Heat

 

 

 

The thick mist coating the world around him failed to diminish at all that day, or the next. This fog seemed to swell to fill Harry's own head as he walked along the barely visible path through the woods behind Greyback – he wasn't even entirely sure how he came to be doing this. Why was he trailing quietly behind the wolf instead of fleeing? _Because he can outrun you if you take off outright,_ his mind supplied with a scheming tone. _Bide your time, wait and then run._ Yes, that was the winning tactic. Yet there was something floating through his muggy mind, waiting there like a predator in the shadows.

_It's the werewolf in me,_ his mind whispered warningly, _the recessive gene or subdued nature, whatever it was that Greyback awoke in you. It wants Greyback, it sees him as a good choice._

_It wants me to follow him._ At that very thought he stopped still on the uneven path and just ahead of him in the mist, Greyback stopped too, turning to face him.

 

“You think too much boy, that's your problem,” the wolf grumbled, taking a few steps towards him. Harry raised his chin in defiance. He knew that a submissive should lower his head, show his throat in submission and respect. But he wouldn't. He may have werewolf in him from… _somewhere_ , but he wasn't a werewolf. He wasn't going to be one of Greyback's bitches.

 

“If you're still sulking because I have you 'prisoner' then let me enlighten you, even if you _did_ manage to give me the slip the Dark Lord would snatch you back up in a second. He's watching you.”

 

Harry sneered, shifting uncomfortably in the loose trousers and shirt Greyback had bestowed on him. The werewolf had even given him shoes ‘to save his dainty feet’ he had said. The recollection didn’t help him to adjust his tone any. He glared at the wolf hard. “He can't be, I'd have felt him–”

“I'm subduing his presence in your mind. I can do that now I have a connection to it. Our bond overwhelms all others,” Greyback punctuated the point by reaching forward and dragging the backs of his knuckles across the angry-looking mark still a vibrant and purple-pink on Harry's neck. Harry shuddered and shot backwards out of his reach.

 

Greyback smirked. “He's ensuring I'm not going to release you to your little friends, no doubt, but he can only get a general sense of your state of mind. He can't see you or hear your thoughts when you're within range of me. Nobody has the right to see you but me.”

 

He spoke with vehemence and possessiveness of the like Harry had never seen before. Harry was coming to realise it was the werewolf in him. He _understood_ it but it didn't mean he was going to give into his own ‘inner wolf’ that was almost purring in his ear. It longed to prostrate itself at Greyback's feet and entice him closer with a swing of its hips. Harry almost gagged at the image, wondering why the voice had been growing more impatient, more desperate since he had awoke in Greyback's company two days ago. It was louder than ever today. His skin felt hot and tingly, almost buzzing with need for… _something,_ though he knew not what.

 

“You still haven't told me where we're going,” Harry snapped, averting his gaze then in awkwardness. He and Greyback were able to sort of feel each other's vibes, which meant that the werewolf must have been able to feel the ethereal, maddening heat beginning to overwhelm him. He thought he could feel a peculiar heat radiating from Greyback's skin now they stood closer, almost vibrating through the air between them, but it was hard to tell what was him and what was coming from outside his own body. He winced.

 

Every limb felt shaky, red-hot and sticky, clammy with a light sheen of sweat. It felt like a hot summer's day in the middle of spring. _Merlin, help me,_ he gasped, his mouth dry and his head growing fuzzier. “What's happening to me?” His voice was almost lost to the intense heat wave that was sweeping over him. He started to sway backwards, at least he thought he did but two strong hands steadied him, gripping his shoulders firmly.

 

“It's started already,” he heard the werewolf mutter and he squinted hard to bring the man into focus. “I didn't think your instincts would have matured enough in a few days to worry about _this_. I’d hoped we’d reach the den before you had to face this.”

 

It occurred to Harry to question this. His brow furrowed and his lips parted in question but he couldn't make coherent words leave his lips. All he managed was a hazy, dry echo of the word, “den?” The two hands that had stopped him from falling tugged him forwards. He grunted as they pulled him against a hard chest – a chest that was far too hard and hot, with a smattering of hair that tickled his skin. It made the tingling in his flesh intensify and he cried out, shoving himself hard away from the steadying embrace.

 

“No!” he shouted, stumbling backwards but managing to stay upright. His body was positively shaking now, even worse since feeling the foreboding rightness of the werewolf’s body against him. “I… What’re you doing to me?!” he demanded, his voice raspy. “My body is… Stop it, whatever you’re doing!”

 

“It’s not me, boy,” Greyback answered gruffly, approaching him again. Harry flew back, almost stumbling over an upturned tree-root, _just_ managing to keep his feet. Greyback was still coming at him. Harry's heart was hammering somewhere in the region of his throat now and his fingers were clawing frantically at the air, as if trying to snag an invisible lifeline.

 

“You’ve studied werewolves at that silly school of yours, you _know_ what this is,” Greyback practically breathed, stopping a few feet from him, sending waves of gradually intensifying heat across Harry's body. Harry was panting hard now, the trousers and loose shirt Greyback had thrown at him the other day felt scratchy and suffocating, far too tight on his body despite the way the garments practically hung off him.

 

“You’re feeling the pull of the moon, the beginning of moon heat,” that voice explained, seeming very distant, like an echo inside Harry's head rather than words spoken before him. “A werewolf’s time of fertility. Your body is telling you it’s ready to–”

 

“No!” Harry cried, shaking his head as if that would clear the muggy fog threatening to drown him from the inside. “I’m not – I’ll never-! I’ll _die_ before I fuck you!” he snarled. Greyback was right; he did know (at least roughly) what moon heat was. Werewolves didn’t have mating seasons they had the full moon. But then, him and those like him with the recessive gene in their blood were the only ones that could carry that young to term. And that was why Greyback wanted him. Greyback, who was now advancing on him again as he began to sway.

_He wants to fuck me!_ Harry thought _. He wants me to…to give him…!_ And oh Merlin, the wolf blood in him was boiling with yearning for just that, because of the moon heat.

 

“Never!” he cried again, shoving hard at Greyback and staggering back. “Stay away from me! Stay back!” He turned on his heel then, flying blindly through the trees, desperate to put space between himself and the wolf that was probably just waiting for the moon heat to turn him into a pool of white-hot desperation. He knew why werewolves were so mindless under the full moon – they were hunting for food and a mate, driven mad by the need to sew their seeds in the short time given.

 

The visions, the urges, the increase in saliva in his mouth at that thought did not even abate as he realised, feet still carrying him as fast as they could go, that to get pregnant during the full moon meant one thing. Greyback would mount him as a werewolf.

 

Suddenly Greyback slammed hard into him, throwing them both to the floor with Harry on the bottom, struggling for freedom with every scant breath left in him. With a final snarl, however, Greyback pinned Harry’s hands above his head with one of his own fists and his legs to the ground with his own bodyweight. He hovered above him. Those icy eyes stared down hard into Harry's.

 

“You have no idea where we are, boy, so let me tell you this place is regularly teeming with wolves come the full moon,” Greyback growled, shaking him roughly to stop him from struggling long enough to listen. “Not all of them will heed my mark on you and now you’re awoken as a carrier you’re not only easy prey but ripe for the taking as well. Do you understand me? They’ll either tear you apart in frenzy to have you first or rape you one at a time until you go mad!”

 

For a moment, Harry just stared up at him, eyes wide but still fuzzy with that pearly white fog swirling around them. It took a great deal of concentration but eventually he found his words. “S-Surely…surely you’ll do exactly the same once you transform?” he breathed. He knew that elder wolves like Greyback had control when they transformed in general, but the light of the moon took control of all werewolves, the experienced and the new. No werewolf had control of himself under the moon, they were ruled by their instincts not their ‘human’ feelings.

 

Greyback leant down then, inhaling him curiously. “You’re afraid.” It was a statement not a question.

 

Harry glowered, albeit dazedly. “I’m set to be gang-raped or ripped to shreds by you or a bunch of stray wolves – of course I bloody well am!”

 

“Good,” Greyback answered simply, “it means you’re not as stupid as I thought you were and you just might bloody listen to me.” He pressed harder on Harry's wrists to further drive home the seriousness of the situation. “I didn’t think the werewolf in you would have awoken enough to be affected by the moon this time but it’s more potent in you than I’d expected. That’s what you’re feeling now – your body preparing for moon heat, desperate to fulfil your basic purpose as far as nature is concerned.”

 

Harry stared up at him silently. Horrified. His body was hot, sensitive and driven mad with lust because he wanted to be mated with – fertilised like some wanton bitch. He winced and turned his head away, staring fixedly at the mist lapping at the edges of the nearest trees. Humiliation was ripe in his throat and clung to his every pore. He knew Greyback could smell it and expected leering, derisive jeers, even the pressure of his hips to lower onto Harry's already feverish body. What he didn’t expect was the pressure on his wrists to let up a fraction. Still, he wouldn’t turn his head to look on the wolf again. He kept his gaze averted.

 

“Stop that mawkishness,” Greyback barked sharply. “It’s nature. My body is suffering the same in the need to mate but I’m older and I’ve dealt with it for longer, I can control it better. You’ll learn to handle it more with every moon.”

 

Harry winced again and this time clamped his eyes shut, biting back the prickling hot tears behind his eyes, unwilling to let them fall. So this would be his life from now on? A slave to his body’s instincts at every moon, instincts that forced him to spread his legs and take it up the arse from any werewolf that managed to pin him down. He could feel it in his loins now, burning hotter than anything he had ever felt. If Greyback pressed down on him now and took him, his body would welcome him with a song of bliss.

 

_Even if my mind is screaming in negation,_ he thought.

 

He bit hard into his lower lip, desperate to feel and taste the blood so at least he would know his body was still his to control, for now at least. He could feel Greyback’s potent scent in his nostrils, urging him to tilt his head back and offer his throat. Harry’s instincts were urging him to do one thing while his own conscious (that he knew better and had lived with for all his life) was telling him to listen to his pride. That was the only way he could explain it.

 

“The voices in you are about even at the moment, but the moonlight will make your instincts stronger,” Greyback murmured, his voice still rough and coarse but somehow gentler than before. It sounded almost consoling – as if he cared about the humiliation and self-loathing rolling off Harry in waves. “It won’t take away who you are or what you want, only make your instincts' desires more potent. Mate, eat, sleep. When we have cubs you’ll be overprotective of them–”

 

“ _When_? You assume I’ll let you fuck me? That I’ll give you… _cubs_?” Harry snapped, without opening his eyes or looking at him. His teeth dug into his lip even harder until at last he tasted hot coppery blood. “I told you, I’d never allow anything of yours to grow inside me. I’m a man, a _wizard_ not a woman and not a fucking werewolf slapper!”

 

Instead of arguing back, Greyback growled in barely contained frustration and one of his hands completely released Harry's wrists in favour of caressing his now wounded lip with a coarse thumb. Harry winced but the thumb wiped away the blood, turning his face up to look at him.

 

After a moment, Harry's pride swelled and forced him to open his eyes. That icy gaze was locked on his face. His lip stung under that thumb but nothing was as painful as the way his instincts roared inside him with longing for the creature above him. To his instincts Greyback was the most powerful, the biggest, most experienced and most in control of his nature – which most other werewolves were slaves to. The alpha, the ideal mate.

 

Harry's skin flushed darkly as that unbearable vibrating heat rippled through his every pore like a constant tide and he closed his eyes tightly again in stubbornness. “I don’t want any of this,” he whispered, only just realising he had said it aloud when Greyback caressed his lip almost consolingly.

 

“You’re a virgin–”

 

“Oh, you’d like to think that wouldn’t you?!” Harry snarled, despite knowing it was useless. Greyback could sense the truth in that fact even without the ability his mark on Harry's throat gave him, the knowledge of when he was lying.

“–and a breeder, so you get to choose when I take you, when we perform the finalisation ritual to our mating,” Greyback continued bluntly. “Back at my pack you will be treated as precious, as royalty. I won’t touch you until you welcome me to your body, it’s how it has always been done. My pack upholds tradition–”

 

“But others, rogue wolves might not, _I know_ , you said,” Harry snapped bitterly, turning his head to the side again before he opened his eyes. He could tell that Greyback was telling the truth but that didn’t eradicate the one important fact. “Don’t dress it up in fancy clothing. You say you rescued me but in fact you’ve only trapped me in another prison. You say I’ll have the choice, that I’m precious but you _bit_ me without asking and you’re holding me here now against my will like a prisoner. Just stop trying to make this seem like a good life because it never will be. To me it’s a prison as vile as Voldemort’s with different shackles – that’s all!”

 

Greyback stared at him for a moment, and then, “you’re saying you’d rather go back to Voldemort than be mine?”

 

“Yes,” Harry glared, “I’d rather have him cut off every extremity I have a thousand times over than be emasculated by being your bitch.” The thumb on his lip suddenly gripped his chin firmly, tilting his face up to Greyback’s again. For a moment, Harry thought the wolf might punch him, he knew alpha werewolves were very insistent about respect from their pack mates and so it was a big surprise when the wolf merely stood up, releasing him completely.

“You have a big mouth and plenty of fire but you need to learn when to surrender a little for your own gain,” Greyback said with dangerous calm, standing beside him, watching him with obviously strained patience. “Anyone else would have had their throat ripped out just now. I am the most powerful alpha on this continent. I don’t coddle and console insolent whelps – yet I have done it for you, for your benefit and you dare continue to insult me? It’s an honour to be chosen by me!”

 

“Then bestow it on someone who appreciates it better!” Harry bellowed, staggering to his feet, his hand flying out to steady him on the nearest tree-trunk. He still felt giddy, his mind still fogged up and his skin still feverish, but he could think a bit clearer now for some reason. “You’ll be waiting for an eternity for me to choose you so it’ll always be rape. I’ll never want you. I’ll never respect you and I’ll always keep trying to escape. This is a prison to me, not a life!”

Left panting slightly from his rant, Harry glanced warily around at the surrounding forest. It was silent but for the distant call of birds that Harry could not see but could _feel_ with his renewed senses. After his breathing calmed, however, Greyback grunted and gestured ahead in the direction they had been going originally. “That minor contact should have sated your instincts for an hour or so at least, we should get moving to find some shelter for you before the moon rises. You’ll be incoherent again soon and from that little speech I doubt you’re ready for the only thing that will stop the burning need – which will grow evermore insatiable the closer we get to the full moon, you realise.”

 

Having had no doubt whatsoever as to what that only solution might be, Harry held his tongue and glanced this way and that into the blinding fog before following a few paces behind the werewolf as he set off again. He had a feeling, a gut instinct that Greyback might be forced to leave him during the moon and if he was right, it would be the perfect time to flee.

 

 

They walked for some time after that in the muggy fog, the dampness of the cold air combining with the unnatural heat in Harry's body to form an uncomfortable sticky sheen of sweat over his skin. Harry grumbled moodily, wiping his face and neck with the overlarge t-shirt he was wearing, desperate to tear it and the trousers off his body to escape the heat.

 

He had no idea how much time had actually passed but thankfully the incoherency of earlier hadn’t returned just yet as Greyback had threatened. He felt itchy, hot, tired and moody and there was an ache deep in his belly he tried not to think about. But he was at least in control still.

It did worry him, however that the fog had not diminished and they seemed to be heading further and further into the forest. He did not want to be in the centre of this labyrinth of trees come the full moon tomorrow, or he’d never escape Greyback – or any of the other wolves that Greyback said was out here.

 

“How far are we away from your pack?” Harry asked, breaking the silence that had reigned since they had set off again. His throat was a little dry; maybe they’d been walking for longer than he’d thought? He tipped his head up to the heavens and saw an orangey-pink light peeping through the close-knit canopy of the treetops. “You said something about a den? Is it in the middle of this forest?”

 

Greyback slowed a little to allow Harry to fall into stride beside him and cast him a cursory look before returning his gaze to the direction he was walking. “All packs’ dens are different, ours isn’t in this forest. It’s beyond the village just outside of here, in the mountainside on the edge of another woodland.”

 

Harry ignored the use of the word ‘ours’ and repeated “cave?” hesitantly.

 

Greyback snorted. “Yes, a cave, from what I hear of your past that should be luxury to you. Rumour has it you slept in a cupboard under the stairs?”

 

“Where did you pick up that rumour? From the most recent child you snatched?” he retorted stiffly, despite having heard Greyback say that was mostly a rumour he had simply allowed to circulate – _almost._ He didn’t want to think about what the full truth was.

 

“It’s another two or three days walk from here on _your_ feet,” Greyback continued, ignoring Harry's words. “I hadn’t anticipated you reacting to the moon, it’s set us both on edge, slowed us down. I’m hoping we can reach the village by tomorrow night so I can leave you there for the night safely.”

 

Harry just nodded. He would use his instincts as an excuse for compliance and play along until then. As soon as Greyback was out of earshot he’d find a way to escape and then hopefully find a way back to Hermione and Ron. It did occur to him that with Greyback away from him Voldemort might be able to watch him unhindered, to stop his escape even, that was why Harry had to move quickly and think even quicker.

 

“I s’pose I need to be protected from you as well as everyone else on the full moon,” Harry murmured absently. “I’m not sure how you reckon me living in your cave with your pack is going to work every full moon.” _Not that I’ll let you get me that far,_ Harry's mind supplied.

 

At that, Greyback stopped and looked him in the eyes for the first time since they’d set off again. “I won’t kill you, not even as a wolf under the full moon. The wolf and I are one. I recognise my pack mates and companions, I’ll recognise you as my mate, so will the rest of the pack once we’re with them.

 

“Your full moons will be much safer once we’re with the pack. It’s out here in the open with rogue wolves and other packs running around that you’re in danger,” Greyback explained as if it were public knowledge. But even Harry had never learned this in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It must have shown in his face, for Greyback’s expression twisted into a bitter smirk.

 

“Should’ve guessed your teachers wouldn’t tell you any of this, eh? Sounds much more impressive if they say we’re savages who’d tear apart our own mates and young? Even wolves have sense, that’s all we are during the full moon, _wolves_ , not savage otherworldly beings.”

 

Harry didn’t say anything, merely stared at him. He knew enough about what Remus had suffered to be ashamed of his own kind for what they had done to penalise werewolves. There was nothing he could say in their defence even if he had wanted to.

 

“My wolf will know you, as I said, thanks to my mark and my scent on you, but it will react… _differently,_ on instinct rather than with my conscious thought,” Greyback continued and his voice grew more grave. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you but _do not_ challenge me. You must submit, always. A loss of your pride tomorrow night will preserve your life for the day after. You’re unusually rebellious for a sub, it might be dangerous for you to challenge me and for me to punish you before your body has had chance to fully mature with your newly awoken werewolf blood. You’re still vulnerable–”

 

“So you won’t hurt me as long as I bow and scrape to you?” Harry demanded hotly. “So if I so much as look you in the eye I might be ripped to shreds?”

 

Greyback grimaced. “Don’t over exaggerate. I’m just saying my wolf won’t realise that your body won’t be able to take as much punishment as a normal unruly werewolf sub. If in doubt just lay down and turn your head to the side and expose your throat.”

 

Harry sneered. “And if I’ll be so bloody safe with you as long as I play along like a good little bitch, why are you intending to ditch me on the full moon night?” he demanded, not entirely sure why he was arguing with it when that was exactly what he wanted. It must have been the instincts. _Sulking because it wants nothing more than to snuggle up to him and take it,_ Harry thought with loathing.

 

With a snort, Greyback continued walking and Harry followed. “You’re a greenhorn in the werewolf ways still. You might get too close while I’m writhing in the pain of the transformation and get hurt accidentally.”

 

Even if Greyback had said that, had thought of his safety purely for his own gain, the initial fact that the thought was there was still…

_I’ve got to get out of here,_ Harry thought frantically, shoving aside such foolish thoughts. It wouldn’t matter if Greyback was in stark raving love with him, he was still a murderer, the bastard responsible for all Remus’ suffering and on top of that, he wanted to turn _him_ into some little bitch for breeding. He would never stop running from that, no matter what.

 

So lost in these thoughts was he that when Greyback held an arm out to halt him, he walked straight into it with an _‘oof!’_

 

“What the–?!”

 

“Hold it a second,” Greyback whispered harshly, sniffing the air in each direction a few times and inclining his head to listen. Harry tried sniffing subtly but he realised the slight increase in his senses didn’t reach as far as Greyback’s.

 

“Shit,” the wolf cursed, his face twisting in a grimace. “Looks like there’s a new pack in these woods. Some rogues got together I reckon. I don’t think it’d be a good idea if we run into them with you so close to moon heat and unmated. These savages consider a mark of intent a mere technicality…”

 

Harry stared at him. The novelty of Greyback calling someone a savage was a bit rich, he thought. “Some of those wolves that you said aren’t quite as ‘traditional’ as you?” he asked, trying to seen unbothered about it all.

 

“You sound worried,” Greyback replied, which Harry took as a yes.

 

“Anyone would be worried about being pounced on by a load of randy werewolves. I don’t _want_ to get raped and impregnated, much less made to enjoy it all by these rancid instincts.” Harry retorted bitterly. He jumped when Greyback whirled around at his words, suddenly looking livid with possessiveness.

 

“They won’t do that,” Greyback growled dangerously, his eyes tinged with flickers of otherworldly gold. Angry gold. “I won’t let them touch you,” he snarled, surging forwards and seizing a fistful of Harry's hair. Harry gasped, his hands flying up to scratch frantically at Greyback’s wrist. “On your knees,” the wolf grunted, “it’ll only take a second.

 

Harry was forced down onto his knees despite his protesting limbs by the hand in his hair. It didn’t hurt but he couldn’t move either. He preferred pain to being trapped. “No!” Harry gasped. “What are you doing?” His eyes flew wide when Greyback’s other hand lowered to those low-riding trousers hanging off the werewolf’s hips. “Let me go!” He screamed, panicked. “You said I got to choose! Get off me!”

Greyback grunted. He gave Harry's hair a firm tug to immobilise him and to force his head up, making Harry stare up into his face. A face that looked quite terrifying at that moment, Harry was not ashamed to say.

 

“I’m not going to fuck you, you stupid boy. I’m going to protect you. This whole bloody forest has to know that you’re mine to keep you safe. A mark on your throat won’t satisfy some of these bastards. There’s only two alternatives to sex to keep you safe right now, so choose.” With that, he shoved his trousers down the last few inches and produced a long, thick but completely flaccid cock. Harry's eyes went impossibly wide then. It was enormous, only inches from his face and Harry knew only two other things besides sex that involved _that_. He swallowed, _hard_.

“Y-You, you want to piss on me or–”

 

“Cum on you,” Greyback finished for him bluntly. “Either is preferable to rape surely?” he demanded gruffly, impatiently. “You need to be as covered in my scent as possible as well as carrying the mark of intent to even stand a chance of warding them off. I can and _will_ tear apart anyone that touches you, but that would risk your safety and I’d prefer to avoid that.”

 

In any other situation, it might strike Harry as odd that the werewolf was capable of thinking so rationally, even if he was an alpha. But right now, all Harry could think about was his cracking pride and the slightly hardening prick in front of his eyes. It was hardening because he was watching, he realised and he quickly diverted his gaze back up to that face, willing his flush to evaporate. As well as the slight shaking to his limbs.

 

Sensing this no doubt, Greyback spoke again in that oddly soothing yet gruff voice, even if he still looked livid. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you’re hardly the first werewolf to have either done to them and if it bothers you so much, you should know that I won’t let you move unless you choose one.”

 

“I – I’m not a werewolf, I’m a wizard – I’m a _man_ ,” Harry insisted, though his voice was almost lost. At this, Greyback released his hair, but Harry kept his head as it was. The hand slid down to touch his unmarked shoulder in would-be consolation.

 

“One of your parents carried this gene as well and most likely never realised. It only becomes active when you’re bitten by a werewolf but it’s still part of your blood, as much as it is part of mine–”

 

“ _You_ did this to me,” Harry hissed, a hint of despair to his tone that he despised. “Just because you wanted me, because I was the…the best _prize_ –”

 

“Ultimately yes, but the alternative was you being humiliated and publicly tortured to death,” Greyback said, as calmly as any man could with his cock hanging out in front of another’s face. Harry fought the urge to bunch up and put distance in between himself and that thing as Greyback continued indifferently, “You’ll come to accept this part of yourself just as you accepted your magic.” He spoke as if his thoughts weren't completely with his words. His cock jerked again and Harry knew without a doubt where Greyback's attention was.

 

That thumb that had traced his wounded lip earlier tilted his chin up higher now so his head was leaning back slightly, all while that other hand began to work with fast, unyielding strokes over the burgeoning arousal before his eyes. He shut his eyes tight and tried to ignore the sound of that hand making all too familiar sounds of hard, urgent thrusts around that cock.

 

His body tensed, bunching to flee but that thumb and forefinger held his chin tight, held him in place. Deep down he knew that he had to bear it if he had any hope of surviving until tomorrow so that he could escape. As much as his gut clenched, as bitter as his pride tasted as it dissipated into nothingness on his tongue, he could not just roll over and die.

 

_One of us has to kill the other in the end,_ he remembered with all his might, shaking with the intensity of it. If he gave up now, if he didn’t do everything he could to survive…

 

Suddenly a low, barely concealed grunt of a groan erupted deep in Greyback’s chest above him. Harry screwed his eyes shut even tighter, finding himself holding his breath as the grip on his chin tightened almost painfully. The guttural sound was his only warning before hot wetness splashed over his face and throat. He flinched and gasped in what he firmly told himself was only horror and rage.

They both remained there for a moment, unmoved in the aftermath, silent but for their uneven breathing and then at last, Greyback’s grip on his chin slackened. Harry jerked back so hard that he fell hard on his arse, his arm shooting up to wipe away the mess Greyback had created. His actions were quickly halted by a cry of “wait!” from Greyback’s lips.

 

Greyback was on his knees in front of him in moments, tugging his arm away and leaning in close to inspect the mess he had created. Harry flushed with both humiliation and rage, though kept his mouth firmly shut lest some of the sticky fluid drip past his lips. He cringed at the thought, but only wished that cringe went further than skin deep. This felt natural to him, or at least the wolf in him, no matter what his human conscience said. On some level this even felt… _good?_

 

_On a very low down, very_ werewolf _level_ , he spat mentally, slamming his eyes shut again when Greyback moved closer, beginning to lap the mess up lightly. He squirmed uncomfortably, his hands flying up to shove at Greyback’s shoulders but the werewolf’s voice stilled him again.

 

“Be still,” he growled huskily, his voice tinted with the unmistakeable remnants of arousal. “The whole point is to let my scent cling to you. This cleanses but leaves the smell, _let me_.” _Let me,_ he’d said, instead of just doing it. As if Harry had a choice either way. He wasn’t afraid of Greyback. He would struggle and fight him but the werewolf was stronger and bigger and he could _make_ Harry do what he wanted, whether Harry wanted to admit it or not.

 

_But this is my decision,_ he thought with more clarity than before. _I’m choosing to let him rather than allow him to beat me into submission._ He would salvage more pride this way, he supposed. This way it was his decision, not Greyback’s choice being enforced by brute strength. He went still and grit his teeth. Greyback continued.

 

That tongue swept across his cheekbones and down, down to catch the stray droplets at his chin and further still to lap at the hollow of his throat. He was outwardly repulsed by the fact that the bastard was licking his own spunk off his skin, that it had touched him at all, but inside, the wolf in him was wagging its tail frantically like a whipped lapdog. _It’s the moon heat,_ he reminded himself tersely, _it isn’t me._

 

“Turn your head, show me your throat,” Greyback breathed against his neck, his spittle and hot breath creating a thin layer of moisture across Harry's collarbone. Harry grit his teeth again, swallowing hard against the swell of heat that bubbled up inside him. He glared one final time at Greyback before tilting his head to the side slowly.

 

A deep, rolling growl of approval shuddered over the lips dangerously close to his adam’s apple as it moved with his swallowing this time. It was a sound of unmistakeable appreciation that vibrated across his skin as Greyback dived in for his neck. A mix of teeth, lips and tongue worshipped his throat, going far beyond the bounds of protection, Harry thought. But it was his last conscious thought. Those fangs scraped the frail skin over his tendons just right and his body went rigid. A cry of unadulterated bliss flew from his lips as his eyes glazed over and pleasure seized control of his every limb.

 

The wolf in him howled with delight as he groaned aloud and his fingers scraped up the dirt beneath him. He felt dizzy again, incoherent but blissfully so this time, not painfully. No one had ever touched any part of him so intimately and the new sensations had driven his already sensitive body into frenzy. His cock was hard and arching up against the baggy trousers that hung loosely around his waist.

 

“Yes,” Greyback growled intensely against his skin. Harry's body undulated in answer, his conscious mind completely enfolded in the fog of arousal. He could feel every emotion in the wolf gripping him tightly and he had never felt so desired, precious, needed – at home.

 

His own fingers flew up then to Greyback’s long silver locks, scraping frantically at his scalp, tugging his hair in urgent need for – _something_. Heat coiled like a serpent in his belly and he groaned aloud again, trying to convey his need even if he didn’t understand it himself.

 

“H-Hot!” He gasped out hoarsely. “Aches…!”

 

A large hand slid down his back, caressing him from neck to arse where it cupped a cheek hard. His cock hardened painfully, oozing wetly from the tip and he gave a softer cry this time, hearing Greyback panting against his ear.

 

“Don’t tempt me to ease that ache, boy, you’ll regret–”

 

“Make it st… Too hot… Make it…!”

 

That low rumbling growl answered his cries, a hot tongue laving the shell of his ear. Two hands gripped his buttocks now, grinding his hips hard and slow into Greyback’s so that he could feel that large, previously sated tumescence grow hard again and press resiliently into his own weeping prick.

 

Suddenly everything stopped. The soft growling in his ear turned to a blood-curdling snarl. It was a roar of danger, of warning. Greyback lifted his head from the crook of Harry's neck and glared into the mist beyond his shoulder. He gripped Harry tighter, but not in ecstasy.

 

“Don’t move, boy,” he growled in Harry's ear and shifted back from him a little, releasing him to drop his fur-lined cloak around Harry's shoulders. Pulling the cloak tight around Harry, he got to his feet, moving before him, putting himself between Harry and the shadows slowly appearing from the mist.

 

Slowly, as Greyback stood, the hazy fog in Harry's mind ebbed away. It lingered ominously at the edges of his mind, not as powerful but very much there – waiting for his urges to become too great again. He knew that the few touches had sated his yearnings temporarily, staggering the moment when he’d be in that dizzying, incoherent confusion again like before. His coherency and human conscience flew back to him in one foul swoop. He had but a moment to feel disgusted by himself, shiver at the echo of his cries before a gruff, unfamiliar voice from ahead of him drew his attention to more urgent matters.

 

“It’s been some time since we saw you last, Fenrir,” the cold voice said, danger and snake-like calculation evident in his voice. Harry watched as three large, bulky figures stepped from behind the veil of mist and came into view, a good few metres from them. He felt Greyback bristle and sensed that any closer without invitation and he would rip them to shreds.

 

_He’s on edge because I’m in moon heat,_ he realised, _somehow_. It was a deep inner knowledge that his werewolf awakening had imbued him with. _They all are. And Greyback would rip them to shreds if they touched me_. He was not sure if that reassured him or not, but he pulled the fur cloak tighter around him to hide his naked chest despite the fact that he was still boiling hot.

 

The wolf in him, the moon was telling him to be small at the moment and he could not help but listen to it this time. Even his human pride wasn’t stupid enough to rise and square up to a bunch of rogue werewolves without a wand, especially when they couldn’t stop looking at him.

 

He glared back at them, ignoring the moon’s whispering suggestion to lower his eyes. He wouldn’t bow to Voldemort or Greyback, he most certainly wouldn’t bow to these beasts. Greyback shifted in front of him, clearly displeased that the newcomers could not tear their eyes from him. But his every muscle positively throbbed with tension when the man standing between the two others spoke again.

 

“What brings you here so close to the full moon, Fenrir? And with an unmated sub so ripe with fertility at your heels?”

 

“He’s not unmated, he’s mine, Conall,” Greyback snapped venomously, reaching behind him to tug the cloak down from Harry's marked throat. Harry winced but did not get the chance to argue. “And that fertility you smell is mine too – he’s ripe for me, me alone. I’ve claimed him ready for mating when we reach my pack. Will you challenge me on this?”

 

Harry wrenched himself free of Greyback and pulled the cloak tighter around himself again, giving him a mutinous glare before continuing to stare warningly at the trio that stood before them. They were all quite tanned, their skin kissed by the sun and while the two ‘book-ends’ were identical twins with fiery auburn hair that stuck up in all directions, the middle man that had spoken had hair as dark and rich as blood. _An older brother,_ Harry guessed. They were as rough and wild as the wilderness around them and just as muscled as Greyback, if not quite as tall.

 

The middle wolf, Conall chuckled at Harry. “A tad obstinate for a sub, is he not? You let a bitch brush off his alpha’s touch, Fenrir? You have gone soft. Are his dainty thighs and the treasure between so awe-inspiring as to tame even you?”

 

Greyback snarled again. “Remind yourself who you’re speaking to. I have been the alpha of our entire species even while you still sucked at your mother’s tit you insolent whelp.” He reached back then and dragged Harry to his feet, keeping a grip on his upper arm but leering at the trio of wolves. “And he _is_ a sub but he’s the alpha’s sub, not some common bitch. Show some respect. He’s on a level far above you.”

 

There was an ominous silence then in the misty clearing. Harry kept his chin high, his jaw set and his eyes on the strangers through it all. He was determined to show no more weakness than they must have seen with him cooing like a slut in Greyback’s arms. He flushed and grit his teeth at the memory. He could not think of that now, not when battle could be imminent.

 

Despite never having come across a werewolf besides Remus, he’d gathered that Greyback was top dog. Still, he had the suspicion that these strays could cause plenty of trouble, especially if the _vibe_ he felt in his bones was right. There were more of them nearby, of that he was certain. At least a handful more rebellious, testosterone-hyped mongrels.

 

_And they can all smell I'm in moon-heat,_ he thought with a pang of horror.

 

Greyback stepped a fraction closer to him, as if having heard his thought, or sensed it somehow.

 

“No offense meant, Alpha,” Conall replied with far too much sincerity, bowing his head slightly to Greyback, but not Harry. Greyback growled a little at that and the other wolf added, “nor to you, Alpha Numero. Please, rest with us tonight, we insist. It is the least we can do in apology to shelter you during moon heat, a difficult time for all of us.”

 

Harry bristled at that, foreboding emanating from his very core despite the display of chivalry. They were looking at him with expressions he couldn’t quite place, but did not care for regardless. He didn’t know how exactly, whether it was simply his instincts or his connection to Greyback but he knew that these rebels meant trouble. He knew just how much danger they posed if he gave them any reason to doubt Greyback’s authority. If _he_ made him look weak in any way.

 

_And to them, an alpha that can’t even keep his sub in check is a weak one,_ he thought. Those that lived on the outskirts like these mongrels didn’t hold traditions like the rest, Greyback had said as much. Carriers like Harry weren’t precious, not ‘numero uno’, they were weaker. They were chattle to be taken and swapped around at will, to do with as the more powerful saw fit. He shuddered at the thought, his teeth clenching, but his sharp and blatant refusal died before it even left his tongue as a large hand squeezed his shoulder in warning.

 

As loathed as he was to admit it, without a wand Greyback was his only protection right now. If he acted up he could put them both in danger, especially as he could _sense_ that there were many more nearby, waiting for a fight – longing for it. He could sense their bloodlust from where he stood.

 

_And it’s not just because emotions are running high at moon heat either…_

 

A large hand on his shoulder silenced the sharp and blatant refusal that had been about to leap from his tongue, but he could not help but grind his teeth when Greyback spoke.

 

“You know how to apologise at least,” he grunted, stance still tense. “My mate is in need of rest and a full stomach at this time of the month.”

 

Harry couldn’t help but notice the wolf on the right was staring at him as if sizing him up. “From the looks of things he doesn’t eat like the rest of us,” the wolf said after another moment of uncomfortable staring. Harry frowned, wondering exactly what _that_ was supposed to mean, but Greyback cut him off again.

 

“His body is made differently but it carries werewolf blood,” he growled, that edge of warning still prominent in his voice. “All carriers are the same. Surely even a whelp can cook a meal for their alpha’s mate?”

 

It was an insult that they had questioned this in the first place, Harry realised, his head beginning to hurt, his mind slowly being swamped with werewolf etiquette. He winced, pressing his palm to his forehead hard, trying to rub away the pain. It failed. Greyback squeezed his shoulder harder in what he probably thought was comfort. Harry inwardly snarled. He just wished he would stop touching him; the werewolf in him was enjoying it too much.

 

“Show me to your fire,” Greyback demanded then, his hand sliding down to grip Harry’s arm and hold him close to his side as he began to move forwards. “Would you keep us standing here all bloody night?”

 

Another lesson in werewolf etiquette, Harry realised was that a brash, rude and demanding alpha was the most desired kind – the most respected among these creatures. The moment they stepped into the rebels’ camp it became a war of testosterone, one that Greyback was winning of course, but just barely.

 

Harry watched them all quietly out of the corner of his eye as he sat on the fur cloak Greyback had draped around him earlier, laying it out underneath him like a blanket. He ate the rabbit they had been forced to cook him over the fire quietly, grateful that his place was furthest from everyone else and yet close enough to the fire that the arms of the wilderness around them did not quite envelop him.

 

Greyback was in the throng of testosterone, the centre of the rowdy conversation and boisterous laughter that was all too forced for Harry’s liking. He felt irritable and sweaty again. His skin was tingling with unbearable heat and he swore the places where Greyback’s seed had painted him earlier were white hot now. He was swiftly becoming overwhelmed with it once again. Moon heat, he decided was simply another name for torture, one he would have to endure until he got back to the wizarding world and managed to find a cure for….

 

His throat tightened around his last mouthful of rabbit at the thought of the wizarding world, at the thought of Ron, Hermione and everyone else that must be worried frantic for him. He swallowed hard around the lump of meat lodged in his throat and wiped his hands on the dewy grass before laying down, his back turned to the unruly dozen around the campfire – all of whom he could feel sneaking looks at him.

 

They were rebels, without a pack but they were in Greyback’s territory, which meant he was their alpha, pack or no pack. He had the feeling they would have still have no qualms about trying it on with him, whether they believed him to be their alpha’s or not. Loyalty was about as thick as water with these pariahs; he could sense it from the way they smelled. They reeked of lust and anger and blood. He cringed at the thought of any of them touching him, even as his body shivered in longing for touch of any kind.

 

He belonged to no one, especially not any of the horny arseholes not a few feet from him. _And I’ll kill myself before I let any of them impregnate me,_ he snarled mentally, the very idea making him feel almost as ill as that of his loved ones and what they must be thinking had happened to him. _I’ll get back to them,_ he thought determinedly, reminding himself of his plan over and over, using it to stop himself from tumbling into the gaping abyss of despair opening – waiting for him to topple in.

 

“You haven’t claimed him properly,” a voice from the fireside said, evidently to Greyback. Harry swore it was that Conall, the boisterous prick from earlier. He seemed to be the ‘leader’ of this pack of misfits. _And his is the gaze that won’t stop lingering over me every time I move,_ Harry thought, shifting a little so that he could pull half of Greyback’s cloak over him, determinedly covering himself despite the fact that his body was on fire with sweat. He struggled to feign sleep, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of thinking he’d heard their jeers.

 

“Is that why he reeks of melancholy?” Conall snorted. “Surely even Alpha Fenrir Greyback isn’t cruel enough to tease his bitch during moon-heat?”

 

Greyback made a non-committal grunt. The sound of him tearing off another mouthful from the leg of stag he’d been chewing punctuated the sound. “It’s his first moon heat–”

 

“All the more reason, begin as you mean to go on – it’s early April, he can still have a litter for the autumn if you act now.”

 

Harry felt sick at how eager Conall sounded and at the length of the silence that fell between the beasts at the fireside. Eventually Greyback answered. “I’ll act as I please and if it pleases me to act in a week’s time or a month, or a year it’s no one’s decision but my own. A pack works differently to this type of… _settlement_ you have here,” Greyback said gruffly. “Carriers need to feel secure in their environment when expecting, their bodies are sensitive to stress–”

 

“Bollocks,” Conall snorted, his mouth full of his own meal by the sounds of it. “He’s Alpha Numero, the Alpha’s other half. He’s a bitch. They exist to serve us, not to be catered to.” Either side of him, his twin brothers (who Harry had learned were named Cannagan and Caleb) chuckled around their mouthfuls.

 

“I’ve never understood the ‘traditional’ way,” Conall continued. “Why waste time courting them, wooing them when we can just take them? They’re carriers, they’re _born_ to carry, to have as many cubs as they can before they die. We give their lives purpose. Why should we chase after them?”

 

“ _As many as possible?”_ Greyback repeated, as if that were the most stupid thing he had ever heard. “There’s a reason why nature only kicks out one of them to every 3 of us, a reason they were rare even before the Ministry…” Harry could hear Greyback grinding his teeth as his voice died and wondered vaguely what the werewolf had been about to say. At least, the ever dwindling coherent part of his mind wondered…

 

“Our kind were never meant to breed like that. Even muggles know how it works. The weaker species, the rabbits and rats make young a plenty. The strong, those most likely to survive past their suckling years have less. We don’t _need_ to procreate, we bite and then we live for centuries.”

 

Harry swore he felt Greyback’s gaze fall upon him now along with everyone else’s and he tried to slow his breathing so that his feigned sleep would seem more convincing.

 

“They’re a gift. We shouldn’t be able to have live young from our own bodies but they enable us to,” Greyback continued. “He’s special, he’s obstinate and strong and that’s why I chose him as my own. Only mine, I don’t share,” he grunted. “I’ve had my fill of passing whores and tumbles in the grass. He will be my mate, that’s why I court him. You can’t force a mate, they must come to you willingly.”

 

Greyback grumbled, gnawing the final chunk of meat from the bone before tossing it into the fire. The flames danced and hissed, flowing sinuously up towards the sky, as if beckoning it down to its bed like a lover. “I didn’t bargain for having to give lessons the night before moon heat. Rogue pups that don’t even know the basics of courtship and breeding have no business being without a pack.”

 

“We’ve been in your territory a while, Alpha,” Cannagan replied.

 

Greyback got to his feet then, his great mass casting a large shadow over where Harry lay. “Do you think you would’ve remained here so peacefully if I hadn’t permitted it? I knew you were here, runt, don’t think you’ve outsmarted me!”

 

Cannagan, who Harry thought was about as much of a runt as Hagrid, growled under his breath, but something cut short the sound, a thud of flesh hitting flesh. Conall smacking his brother to his knees.

 

“Your brothers need to learn respect before they learn to use their tongues,” Greyback grumbled, “You’re their leader, their incompetence is a shame on you. I suggest you fix them before the packs you all left behind come to think of you as common dogs.” With that, Greyback turned from them and stalked over to where Harry lay. “And if I am forced to fix them for not being able to keep their pricks in check tonight you’ll _all_ feel my displeasure.”

 

Harry could not help but tense as the werewolf flumped to the ground beside him, not demanding more of Harry’s fur cloak to lay on as Harry had expected but merely laying so close to him that Harry could feel his heat through the fur. Harry swallowed. His lips parted dryly, sweat beaded across his brow but before he could find his words Greyback spoke.

 

“Sleep,” he grunted, for his ears only.

 

Harry said nothing. He was so hot all over, his skin was tingling and itching at once like earlier and his veins were throbbing with white-hot need. A diminutive whine of a groan he had never heard come through a human’s lips left him then. His body arched. He pressed his head hard into the fur in an attempt to alleviate some of the maddening inner itch. His cock was throbbing and he had to curl his fingers tightly into the fur to stop himself from reaching down to try and sate it.

 

“Cant…!” He gasped then, frustration and humiliation rippling through him. He knew that every beast there could smell him, smell the pre-come weeping from his prick even if they couldn’t see him from behind Greyback’s massive body. He sank his teeth unyieldingly into his lip to stop another revolting whimpering gasp from escaping him.

 

An unbearable, elongated moment passed, and then another. Then suddenly Greyback’s weight shifted behind him and a large hand slid under the fur and cloth between them to slide up Harry’s torso. “Be still,” Greyback growled warningly in his ear, putting all of his teeth into the words when Harry began to protest. The other hand snuck up to knot tightly in Harry’s dark, sweaty locks, tugging his head back to rest against his shoulder and leaving his throat exposed to Greyback’s hot breath

 

Harry’s very core trembled. His breath came out in shaky pants and he slammed his eyes shut. He didn’t want this. His muscles were tensed for a struggle for freedom even though his body was groaning for release. He felt like a line of elastic pulled taut to breaking point. This was no pleasure, this was torture!

 

Suddenly that mouth pressed over his marked throat and stayed there, the hand that had been knotted in his hair sliding forwards to cup his damp, furrowed brow. It felt oddly soothing. The touch even calmed the throbbing in his scar that had been constant for some time now. His previously screwed up eyes remained closed but relaxed, even if the heat did not ebb away. His throat was still dry and his body was still clenched in longing.

 

“Sleep,” Greyback demanded again, and this time, with his greedy body’s desires held at bay, Harry could not help but succumb to the exhaustion that tugged heartily at his consciousness.

 

“Sleep,” that gruff growl murmured against his flesh once more, just under his ear. Harry felt his resolve slipping along with his awareness. He barely heard a final whisper of, “go to sleep, boy,” before he drifted completely away from the itchy, stiflingly hot reality.

 

 

 

Fog and darkness had mated around him to form an impenetrable veil when he opened his eyes. He wondered how high up in the country they were as his consciousness slowly drifted back to him and he blinked blearily at the world. He thought vaguely of the highlands, of the moors and if they were anywhere near Hogwarts. But before he could even remember where he was and whose body was beside him, he became aware of the dreaded torture that had exhausted him into slumber a few hours ago…

 

It felt like hundreds of white-hot droplets of acid rain were beating down over his skin with relentless fury. His sweat was so icy cold in the chilly night that it burned as much as the imaginary burning downpour. His muscles were shaking with spasms in his body, making his bones, his very teeth chatter even though he was boiling hot. With a groan he threw the fur cloak off him, tugging frantically at his baggy shirt and trousers.

 

_Too hot! It was too hot!_

A low animalistic growl rumbled in his throat like the desperate grumble of a frustrated beast. He writhed and arched on his place beside Greyback, who remained blissfully asleep, though he did stir. Not that Harry had the presence of mind to care. Rolling onto his hands and knees, the growl turned into a mewl of desperation and he wriggled out of his shirt, throwing himself away from the warmth the dying fire and bodies surrounding it provided.

 

It was still too hot!

 

He was crawling now through the beautifully cool dirt, pressing his torso to the undergrowth to feel the blissful coolness that the dewy grass gave him. He almost purred, _almost_ , as he squirmed out of his loose trousers, rolling in the dirt with an inhuman yip before tumbling into a nearby tree. Harry halted there on all fours, shaking himself off before laying back languidly in the grass.

 

The maddening heat had faded a little but something was not quite right. Harry raised his head and caught a brief glimpse of the moon peeking between the dark billows of cloud and fog. As woke more thoroughly, things began to seem clearer. He could see and smell and even _taste_ things better. He didn’t feel as inconsolable with heat anymore but his body still ached.

 

Suddenly, a low, distinctly different growl whisked over him, making the hairs all along his neck stand on end. He closed his eyes and inhaled, lowering himself flat to the ground on his belly, where he kicked his arse up, swaying it slightly as if wagging a tail that wasn’t really there. A husky, grumbling whine trickled over his lips. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was standing over him.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	3. With Blood Under the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know, while I do have probably 85-90 percent of this story already written on my laptop, I'm not updating once a week to 'get more reviews' as someone very uncharitably suggested. I'm uploading once a week as I have a really busy life and by updating you once a week, it gives me time to not only quickly proof-read the chapters you are reading but also finish writing the last chapters of the story so that when you catch up, you won't have to wait ages for an update. I write fast but I don't always get as much time as I like to write in. I used this technique while writing my other most recent story 'Sanguis Vita Est' and it worked. I'm doing well and by the time you guys catch up to where I am, all being well, I'll have the story finished so there will be no 'hiatus' or waiting ages for the finale.
> 
> So it will still be a weekly update, Friday evenings (UK time) everyone - I hope that's alright. I am flattered that you're so eager for more that 1 chapter isn't enough but I hope that you can accept why we're still on weekly updates and that the wait is worth it ^_^
> 
> On that note, please enjoy this next chapter and leave me a review to let me know what you think if you have a spare moment :)

.: Chapter Three :.

With Blood Under the Moon

 

 

 

Greyback stood still as he struggled to contain himself at the sight laid before him, to hold back when all he wanted to do was lunge upon the creature practically screaming to be taken. He drew in a breath and grinded his teeth together hard. “The moon heat has definitely got a full hold on you,” he said in a quiet growl, heat swimming down to his loins at the peek he caught of the boy’s prick. It was hard, ready and weeping colourless fluid just beneath him as he shifted up on his knees to look at him properly.

 

Greyback was no stranger to this of course, had seen it many times but he had not been prepared for how his boy would look in the throes of the same passion every other wolf succumbed to. Another of those seductive, wanton growls summoned his attention fully to the creature on his knees before him. The boy was completely lost to the moon that was to come and the instincts that had been driven mad with lack of satisfaction. Potter’s werewolf genes were driving now. Greyback could not help but feel his gaze wander painfully slowly down that flushed form, down that lean chest and taut stomach. Down further…

 

The boy’s cock throbbed eagerly then, the pink, swollen organ twitching as if it knew he was looking. Greyback could not help but lick his lips, but managed to refrain from pouncing on the delectable creature before him. Seeing this lack of progress, the boy, now lost to the world gave another desperate whine before crawling forwards, his honey-hued flesh shining with sweat and the dew of the grass.

“You’re mad with it, aren’t you?” Greyback muttered as the boy came to stop at his feet, dragging his nails down over the cloth hiding Greyback’s burgeoning arousal. Those green eyes were shining and dilated, fixed on him all the while. It was infuriating. With a snarl, Greyback seized the boy’s chin, tilting his head up further. In this state, the boy didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary he gasped in delight, almost purring when Greyback’s rough thumb skimmed his lower lip.

 

A pink tongue shot out to greet the digit, teeth taking advantage of Greyback’s surprise to nip at his flesh provocatively. However reluctant, naïve and innocent his boy was, the wolf in him knew he, the submissive had the power here. He knew what he could do, what he _was_ doing to the most powerful and reputed werewolf in the country.

 

Abruptly Greyback shoved the boy back hard, sending him sprawling back in the grass. His own breathing was ragged and uneven, his cock pressing against the boundaries of his trousers. “You shouldn’t test me if you want to keep hold of that cherry of yours,” he grunted but the boy was squirming again now.

 

Both of the brat’s hands were between his own legs now, fondling his flushed cock with clumsy frantic tugs. That desperate sound was back again, tumbling from those lips and the smell of arousal was so heady in the air that Greyback knew the others would be awaking to it soon. They would be opening their greedy eyes and turning them on his mate, disorientated and on the precipice of explosion. He lost it at that.

 

With an almighty snarl he seized the boy’s discarded clothing and the fur cloak he had given him, striding past the boy a few feet and into the forest. “Follow me,” he growled menacingly and even as lost as he was, Potter could not misunderstand that. Even a wolf mad with lust could not ignore it.

 

Potter groaned again, that inhuman whine of a growl and he scrambled after Fenrir, slamming into him in his haste to obey. Fenrir had wanted to move a bit further from the pack but with the ripe scent of heat rising from every pore of the boy’s flesh was too much. They got only _just_ out of earshot before he threw the garments down beside the stream they had come across.

 

The moonlight shone brightly, dancing across each ripple like diamonds in the night as the fog began to clear. The grass swayed like Potter’s hips had, beckoning them to the ground. “You’re ripe and ready, aren’t you?” Fenrir demanded of the boy, who didn’t seem to be able to form words and merely stumbled the last few feet towards him.

 

Fenrir caught him before he could even touch him. He seized a handful of that mussed dark hair in one fist, yanking his head back roughly so that he could admire that expanse of white throat. He grazed that trembling adam’s apple with his teeth. Potter whined again and Fenrir reached round with his other hand, cupping his arse and squeezing until the boy writhed into him, clumsily humping his leg.

 

“Hmmmm,” Fenrir grumbled in animalistic approval, sliding a thick thigh forward between the boy’s legs, hoisting him up off his feet and up to rest against Fenrir’s hips. Using the hand on that tight arse he helped that frantic body arch into him, helped that cock press into his hip in gauche desperation. He grinned savagely into the night and howled. The body against his shuddered with the intensity of it.

 

The near-full moon was high above them, hidden behind a veil of clouds and lingering mist but definitely still there. Though Fenrir tried to resist, knew that his mate would not appreciate this come morning, he was losing the battle against his instincts just as Potter had lost against his.

 

“I want you,” he growled, punctuating his words by biting the edge of that jaw, that chin, those lips gently. “Every inch. I want you to be mine – _only mine_!”

 

Potter wriggled against him, gripping him so hard that his nails were digging into Fenrir’s shoulders. Those eyes were closed now, that mouth parted only a hairsbreadth from his. He was panting and crying out in earnest, but that wasn’t good enough, Fenrir needed words; verbal assent not even his capricious little wolf could deny later. He had wanted to court him longer, but his boy was too alluring for his own good. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded. He pressed his thigh up hard into that hot crotch to punctuate the point.

 

The boy cried out again, tossing his head and nodding frantically. His lips were working incoherent sounds from them, searching for speech. But Greyback only rutted against him harder, tugging his hair insistently to remind him what he wanted. “Words,” he growled again, biting tauntingly at the boy’s chin until he groaned uncontrollably.

 

“Want it!” Potter called brokenly, his nails digging hard into him, his panting breaths dancing across Greyback’s face. “Want you! M-Mate…! Mate me! Breed me!” That was all Fenrir needed in way of words. An assent he could _feel_ in more ways than one. He dropped the boy to his shaky legs, giving his arse a final squeeze before leaving him to sway on his own feet.

 

The boy was completely running on instinct, need and deep-set longing – none of which he was likely aware of when his human mind was in control. He was getting what he truly needed and wanted for perhaps the first time in his life and was blind to all else. Fenrir wasn’t far behind. He growled lowly, a sound caught between warning and lust. “You know what to do, don’t you? You know how this works?”

 

A pink tongue darted out to wet those lips, an action Fenrir mimicked without thinking while he watched Potter nod eagerly, swaying forwards in an attempt to grab at him again. Fenrir seized him roughly, his claws scraping the pale skin on Potter’s forearms just enough to make him gasp. “Then run for me, pet. Give my wolf a chase before he takes you.”

 

Those emerald eyes widened impossibly, dark with lust. Potter whirled on his heel and sped out into the forest, away from the camp and disappearing between the trees. Or from sight at least. Fenrir could hear him, feel him and smell the potent scent of delicious heat Potter was leaving in his wake. He inhaled it deeply as it swept through him on the night breeze, drinking it in deeply before bolting after his prey.

 

The grass was firm but cool underfoot as he shot across it, the moonlight peeking through the gaps in the canopy overhead and streaking the forest with rays of light. His mate was running against the wind, the breeze blowing his scent back into Fenrir’s nostrils. He shrugged off his clothes as he ran. Abandoning them, the fur and his mate’s clothes to the forest floor – forgotten for now – and threw himself onto all fours, flying across the dirt after that delectable scent.

 

A great leap carried him into the air. His bones elongated and snapped, arching unnaturally as fur sprouted from his flesh and a muzzle from his skull. He was fully changed before he hit the ground, a silver wolf bounding through the trees. A long howl erupted from his maw where it hung open in excitement of the chase. It was a high, longing cry, a mating call telling all that the ritual chase had begun.

 

Panting now, his blue eyes caught a glimpse of moonlight reflecting off pale flesh. He howled again as tradition and bone-deep instincts demanded. The chase had blood pounding in his veins like an insatiable tide. Saliva built in his mouth at the taste of his mate’s scent and he felt his insides singing along with his howling at the knowledge that he would join with his marked one soon.

 

_Chase me, chase me,_ his little wolf called back to him without words and Fenrir forced his muscles to work harder, faster. With another leap he cleared the air straight over his intended’s head, landing on all fours in front of him. He growled wantonly and watched his mate dodge to the side, narrowly avoiding slamming into him.

 

 

Harry had never felt so free in all his life. Free of worldly strife that he somehow remembered his life to be ripe with, free from inhibitions and embarrassment, filled only with his baser instincts and desires. Everything deep down inside himself that he had never indulged and always neglected. He forgot everything else.

 

He couldn’t quite put a name to the woes that had been blasted away by that mating howl. The evening breeze rushed through his hair and licked at his naked flesh like the tongue of a lover. He knew somehow that he had led a troubled life full of despair, hardship and expectations. Now he was free, liberated to a state of blissful unaware. He leapt over the upturned tree-roots with glee, glancing over his shoulder without fear at the beautiful wolf pursuing him.

 

Silver fur rippled with the breeze and the movement of tight muscle. Blue eyes shone in the darkness and white fangs glistened. His alpha was displaying for him during this chase, courting him still, showing his power and worthiness. The wolf called for him again and he laughed. It was a human sound, but he remembered it well. He was at peace with the wolf and the human in him for now and was beaming with it, that thrill of bliss he somehow knew he had merely _tasted_ before.

 

The silver wolf was almost on him now. He could feel his hot breath against his back, his only warning before a cold nose butted against the base of his spine. He had been caught and with a grin he ran a few more steps, taunting the wolf who had stopped upon ‘catching him’. Without stopping he could feel those azure eyes locked on him, watching every sinew of muscle move. They were rimmed with a golden glow.

 

Dropping suddenly onto all fours, Harry rolled onto his back and squirmed, impatient and waiting. The alpha had caught him and he was glad of it, he’d displayed deliciously but his surrender was on _his own_ terms. His eyes gleamed as he turned his head to watch the great wolf coming towards him, walking the additional few feet to him with minute irritation flickering in his eyes.

 

Fenrir Greyback had expected his mate to drop to his knees immediately on being caught, not carry on a few more feet in rebellion. But Harry had been determined to show him that he was full of just as much fire as him. Feisty and headstrong and in need of teaching some of the more wolfish lessons that his instincts alone could not.

 

Harry blinked with glazed eyes, staring down at that muzzle as the wolf bent his neck to sniff vigorously at Harry’s dripping arousal. Gasping aloud, Harry propped himself up on his elbows and tipped his head to look down at him, but daringly met his alpha’s eyes. The wolf growled and when Harry didn’t turn his head away, he raised his own completely, until he was towering completely over Harry.

 

Harry’s eyes were wide and practically black his pupils were so dilated. He gave an inhuman croon of awe as the sparse moonlight danced across the wolf’s dazzling silver fur, making it shine before his very eyes. He reached up, his fingers outstretched with longing to feel it ripple under his touch.

 

A growl stilled his movements. Harry answered the sound with a whine, still looking up into two blue/gold eyes that were glaringly bright in the darkness. After a moment, however, Harry realised what the alpha wanted and averted his gaze, reaching forwards again simultaneously. This time his fingers glided into velvety soft fur and he exhaled slowly. His eyes fluttered shut. It was like the last great weight had been lifted from him. Reaching out with his other hand he caressed the wolf’s furry ears, ran the flat of his palm down across his flanks and then up his back, appreciating the strong, taut muscles there.

 

An almost purr told him that he could meet those eyes again now (this time with permission) and he immediately did so. He glanced quickly away again, however at the sight that met him. Even with his instincts ruling him, he was purely unnerved to see the red shaft of the great bear-sized wolf standing to attention, as if reaching for him. He shifted back out from under him, keeping his gaze averted.

 

Only mated couples trying to conceive mated like this and he was not. The notion of being taken by even his alpha in this form was abhorrent to him. This was not the way it was done. He winced at the thought and shifted back again, until he was standing with his back against an aged oak’s trunk. Closing his eyes, he exposed his throat in silent apology.

 

The breeze swept across his skin as he stood there, naked as the day he was born and willing his alpha to understand the reason for his rejection. The leaves and twigs on the ground rustled with movement and Harry drew in a breath as he felt a thumb pressing on his chin, sweeping across his bottom lip.

 

“Not like that, not yet, pet,” a familiar gruff voice breathed. Harry opened his eyes to see his alpha towering over him, but as a man now not a wolf. The blue gaze darkened, roving Harry’s entire body with such intensity that Harry shivered with it. He couldn’t remember at the moment but he was sure no one had ever looked at him like that.

 

As if reading his mind, his alpha’s lips curved upwards a fraction into an almost smile. “And you’ve never been taken care of, provided for or had your needs become the sole focus of one person, have you?” he said gruffly, evidently not expecting an answer from his hazy-minded partner for he trailed the rough pad of his thumb over Harry’s lip thoughtfully. His smirk broadened when Harry’s mouth quivered under his intensity.

 

“Definitely a virgin,” the Alpha mused aloud, before tugging Harry by his wrist toward the bank of the river running peacefully behind them. The moonlight cast stunning crystal-like glimmers across the surface. Greyback stopped him just a few feet a way, staring at him for a moment with silent hunger before slipping out of sight.

 

Harry began to turn to follow him with his eyes, but that gruff voice stopped him. “Be still if you want this, little wolf. The dominant wolf must lead his bitch in this ritual.” Footsteps signalled the wolf’s retreat but Harry stood as still as stone, not even moving his head to follow the lights dancing across the river before him. He couldn’t remember much right then, he _knew_ even less but he did know he wanted this with all his being. For every reason Greyback had hinted at and more. They were desperate desires that his human conscious spent every day denying and fighting, but that did not erase the fact that he wanted it. All of him.

 

Sound from behind him signalled his alpha’s return and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, goosebumps rose across his flesh but he forced himself to remain perfectly still. The familiar feeling of the fur cloak being draped over his shoulders slowly startled him at first and he turned his head a fraction to catch the broad werewolf’s shadow in his peripheral vision.

 

“With the oath to shield, shelter and protect,” Greyback said in his gruff, coarse voice, but when Harry reached up to catch the corners of the fur cloak and keep it around his shoulder, the wolf seized his wrist sharply. “Accept carefully,” he warned gruffly, “this is a binding vow you cannot take back.”

 

Harry tugged his hand free with an animalistic sound of need, clutching the fur around his shoulders tightly. Fenrir Greyback said nothing, merely stepping back, the previous mood settling back into the air between them.

 

“With an oath to honour and fight for my mate–” He came about to stand before Harry now and Harry was stunned to see deep claw marks gouged into that broad chest. Blood stained his alpha’s chest hair and claws.

 

“-until there my last breath leaves me,” Greyback finished gruffly, raising his bloody thumb and dragging it across Harry’s forehead in an upwards horizontal arch. Harry’s forehead tingled where he was painted with the blood but the scar on his forehead ached heavily, forebodingly. Further bloody arcs graced both cheeks, the flesh just above his navel and over his heart thanks to the artist brush of the werewolf’s thumb, until at last the final crimson smear was dragged shapelessly across the mark at his throat.

 

Suddenly, Harry gasped. His body arched forwards with bullet-force, throwing him off his feet and into his alpha’s chest. Every bloody mark was burning with fiery intensity just this side of painful. The lightning bolt scar throbbed and the mating mark at his throat grew so hot he wanted to claw at it. His heart was hammering in his chest. His breaths were coming out in uneven, manic pants.

 

“With an oath to provide in all things, in the name of our ancestors, initiated with blood under the moon,” the wolf continued, gripping Harry tightly and holding him at arm’s length. Those eyes were bright with unnameable emotion, so ferocious that Harry was unable to look away, not even when his body shook with spasms of near pain and overwhelming power not entirely his own.

 

“And sealed with the fluid of mutual pleasure,” that husky voice concluded. Those hands released Harry and forced him to stand alone. He watched his naked alpha retreat back into the water until he was _just_ out of arm’s reach. The water rippled around the man’s waist. “Do you accept me?” Fenrir Greyback asked darkly, his eyes shadowed with lust, want and danger.

 

Something had risen in Harry now, mixing with his magic and spiralling up inside him until it felt like a tornado burning in his throat. He didn’t know words tonight, didn’t even know his name but he knew what he felt. Both the human and the wolf knew. He had enough freedom from his human consciousness to make the decision based on needs and wants rather than expectations, upbringing and pride.

 

With only a moment of hesitation, Harry swept his arm back, letting the cloak slide off his shoulders and pool on the ground at his feet. He stepped forwards, the moonlight illuminating his skin as he reached out. Greyback took a step back out of his reach again, leaving Harry standing on the edge of the riverbank, the water lapping at his toes.

 

A desperate whining growl of distress left him, but the Alpha did not even blink. He was waiting, Harry realised. Struggling to find words that he _knew_ he had learnt, many years ago. He felt his throat strain as if it had become incapable of human sounds. “Mate,” he gasped out at last, yearning drawing out the single syllable. He knew the human reservations would fight it once they awoke again, but they would ebb with time. This was what he _needed_.

 

Inhaling deeply, he fought out the words he thought signified his assent. Fenrir Greyback had meant what he said, he wanted him willing only. “Yes,” Harry panted, “ _Want_.” With that, his alpha seized him roughly by the scruff of his neck and waist both, yanking him off his feet and pulling Harry hard against him. The water splashed around them as he met his mate in the water and that mouth met his throat simultaneously. Yes, this was what he needed, his body was burning for it all over.

 

“Mate me,” he struggled out, arching his throat and back ferociously so that it was only his alpha’s grip holding him above the water; a hand still knotted in his hair and the other pinning his hips to Fenrir’s. Their arousals met, his own pre-emission slicking the hard, rampant thrusting path they made against each other. Harry groaned while his mate growled into the biting kisses he was unleashing on the column of his throat.

 

When that tongue massaged the scar that his alpha’s teeth had made, little jerks of lightning bolted through his body right down to his toes, which curled in the water where his legs dangled uselessly. He gasped, his eyes slamming shut at the overwhelming feelings coursing through him. The hand on his hips slid down boldly, grasping his arse and palming a taut cheek roughly.

 

With a squirm of want and delight, he threw his arms around that neck, his fingers tugging eagerly on silver locks. His alpha growled hungrily, pleased with the action and another hand shot down to grip the other cheek. He pulled Harry’s buttocks open with a feral snarl, sliding the edge of his index finger along the smooth valley between.

 

“Oh, I’ll mate you,” Greyback growled in vehement promise. “I’ll take you so hard you’ll smell of me until your _next_ moon heat.” He bent his head then, flicking his tongue over a pert nipple to punctuate his words. Harry’s cock throbbed against the larger one rubbing against him.

 

Suddenly he was on his feet again, tossed roughly forward so that he was standing with his feet in the water and his hands on the riverbank. The grassy bank jutted over the water like a small cliff rather than a gradual descent to the water’s edge, the perfect support for his torso. His skin prickled with shivers (only partly caused by the cool air on his wet skin) as his fingers sank into the grass.

 

His arse felt exposed in the air with two large hands parting his cheeks again, leaving his quivering hole vulnerable to the elements. He hissed, dipping his upper body so that his shoulders rested on the bank. His cock hung heavily beneath him, neglected and hungry for release. He was so hot all over, inside and out. He couldn’t take it anymore.

 

Harry shoved his hips backwards impatiently, his alpha’s claws grazing his cheeks warningly.

 

“Impatient,” the wolf chuckled, the rough stubble on his chin brushing Harry’s arse as he spoke, the movement of his lips _just_ flickering over his entrance. But before the mewl of excitement had even finishing flying from Harry’s lips, a slick tongue had swept over his tender ring of pleasure.

 

Harry’s back arched, his body went rigid and his fingers dug so hard into the earth that he uprooted the grass there. He gave a long groan, clenching his thighs together tightly in some release of his thrill. He felt a stubbly smile against his arse and that tongue lashed him again, sharp and hard in the centre of his heat before leisurely swirling around his twitching pucker, seducing it into opening.

 

“You should see yourself, pet, all pink and tight, only for me,” the Alpha breathed, his mouth retreating. Harry’s lips parted with a whine of protest, but it was cut short as he heard a distinctly wet, slurping sound. A slippery digit was pressed into his opening. The thumb made tiny circular motions against his pink, virgin hole as it pushed it, tormenting him gently into permitting him entry.

 

With each millimetre inward Harry was emitting a long, slow groan under his breath. It was a sound of uncertainty and pleasure all at once that continued in one breath until he felt his clenching walls swallow the appendage to the knuckle. It moved inside him, opening him with maddening gyrations and spreading the moistness through his arse. Staking his claim inside and out.

 

The palm of that large hand pressed forwards, cupping his tight, full bollocks and the base of his cock firmly, massaging him until his head jerked frantically on his neck. He grit his teeth, feeling giddy with desire. Those long fingers caressed the veins at the base of his oozing prick. That hot palm rolled his balls just right and the hot breath against his sweaty back – it was all so good.

 

But nothing was as mind-blowing as the manipulation of the tender little place inside him that he’d never known until now. Jerking his hips back into the thumb in his arse, he saw stars as that digit twisted in taunting ‘come-hither’ motions into that sensitive place inside him. He felt his ring stretching around the knuckle as his alpha pressed in deeper, spreading him wider now. Greyback’s hips moved against Harry’s thighs as he pushed him further up the riverbank until his entire torso was resting on the grass.

 

Then the thumb withdrew, the delicious heat and pressure of that hand leaving his cock and balls. Harry pressed his cheek into the ground, swaying his hips the way his instincts taught him to. Two large hands gripped his hips again, holding him still.

 

“This is going to hurt, pet,” that coarse, heated voice growled behind him, somewhere above his back now. The wolf had straightened up. “I’m a lot bigger than this little place of yours.” He spread his cheeks impossibly wide, his thumbs tugging his opening taut and open under that heated icy gaze.

 

Harry squirmed as he felt white-hot fluid ooze from his crack. A chuckle rumbled above him. “Luckily your genes take care of things during your receptive period, the moon tells you you’re ready for mating and your body answers by making you able to accept me easier.”

 

 

 

Fenrir smoothed the clear dampness weeping from that flushed place around, before spitting into his own hand and spreading it over his swollen organ. It looked huge against the boy before him, and he wondered for a moment if those scrawny hips could take him. He would find out soon, he supposed. “Relax and open wide,” he growled softly, lining the swollen, purpled head of his erection against that quivering hole. He could feel it shaking with spasms around him already, only with a little pressure.

 

He reached around with one hand, rubbing the boy’s tensed stomach in soothing circular motions as he pressed in slowly, unrelenting no matter the pained wolfish cries leaving those lips. It was so tight, almost impossible to move in. Fenrir breathed out deeply, only just holding onto his control. Those slick, tight walls clenched around him, stretched to near breaking point.

 

An unnerving whine of agony rippled through the air and he grunted, not liking how it made him feel. “Put your legs up on the bank,” he urged gruffly, moving with his mate to stay within him as he obliged. Now the boy was lying almost folded in half on his knees, his arse still jutting out over the water obscenely and his chest flat against his thighs. “Push out like you’re having a shit,” he advised crudely.

 

The sweltering wetness of that channel was still tight but straighter now, accepting him easier as he pushed the final few inches in. When his hips were pressed flush against those tensed buttocks he felt heard the boy mutter a noise of choked shock. He could smell pain on the air. He didn’t like that for some reason. He hadn’t expected their connection to affect him this much. “You took me so well. Such a good boy,” he breathed roughly, reaching down to squeeze his mate’s slightly softened length in reward.

 

That hot body was beginning to quiver around him anew now, the boy’s cock filling out into thick, heavy hardness in his grip. He bent over his mate’s body, pressing his chest tight to the boy’s back, remaining in him balls deep. Inhaling the sweaty hair at the back of that slender neck in wolfish affection he breathed deeply, “Such a good boy. I swore didn’t I, that I would always provide for you?”

 

Sliding back the foreskin off of the pink tip, he rolled it up and down a few times, spreading the pre-emission building at the slit around the head, tugging that tight little line of flesh joining foreskin to the helmet teasingly, just the way he liked it on himself. The boy’s chest was heaving with rapid breaths now, his voice low and husky with lust. “You like that too,” Fenrir said. It was a statement, not a question. “I’ll learn your body inside out until a single touch is all it takes to make you scream.”

 

Still leaning flat over his mate’s back, Fenrir began to roll his hips slightly in time with the tormenting tugs at that delicious prick in his grasp. His boy’s sweet-smelling fluids lubricated both actions and he growled appreciatively as the scent spiralled up his nostrils, making his cock harden even more in that slick chute. He was rocking backwards and forwards now, his steady rhythm growing faster along with his mate’s breathing. Growling with satisfaction, he began to give a twist of his hips with each inward thrust, shocking a loud groan from the body below.

 

“How does it feel now?” he asked, already knowing the answer by the way those slender hips were trying to push back and swallow him deeper with each withdrawal. “I can feel you squeezing me, what a needy little virgin.” He straightened up now, fisting the boy’s cock firmly, his thrusts deepening, hastening as he felt that tender flesh surrender to him. “You’re swallowing me whole, can you hear it?”

 

Thrusting hard into that delectable heat, he grit his teeth to prevent his snarl of pleasure from escaping. All the better to allow the wet slapping sounds of their bodies joining to echo in the small clearing. “Oh, you take me so deep. I can feel how much you love it!”

 

He wished the brat had as much control over his instincts as he did, just so he could hear the embarrassed sounds he would no doubt make if his human conscience were in control. But there was time for that. He knew the boy was in there, that these were his decisions being made, it was simply that the part of him he was least acquainted with had made those decisions – was driving his body. He smirked at the thought of how pissed off the boy would be when he came back to himself and shoved his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep into his mate in punishment for how he would behave later.

 

Those hips were arching frantically now, pushing irregularly back into his thrusts and forwards into his tight grip. Potter’s arse was wet with the lubrication he had felt earlier and his cock soaked with beads of pre-come. There was a constant desperate sound on those lips that no human could make and though he had never stooped so low as to place a human _kiss_ on another’s mouth, he felt the urge to bite those lips.

 

“You’re getting close aren’t you? I can feel it,” he growled. The boy nodded frantically, shoving himself back with manic speed. Fenrir gripped him tightly around his middle, holding that body to him as he rose from the water. A shocked and awkward noise reached his ears as he dropped onto his arse on the riverbank, turning his mate round on his lap so that he was kneeling astride his thighs, his arse still full of his throbbing arousal.

 

He rather liked this position, he thought as he grasped the Potter boy’s cock again. He liked the sight of the beet-red flush extending down to the boy’s hairless chest, the sweat clinging to the little curls of dark fuzz leading down from his navel (still streaked with his own blood from earlier), the sight of that cock full and wet with pleasure in his hand. But most of all the glazed, delirious look in those eyes and the way that mouth hung open in animalistic bliss.

 

“You have to come on me to finish the ritual,” he explained at the questioning look mixed with arousal in that face, rocking his hips up into that tight arse. Immediately the boy’s hands shot out, gripping his shoulders so tightly his nails dug into his flesh. Fenrir growled again encouragingly, planting his feet on the ground. His legs tensed as they stretched out so he could throw everything he had up into that gorgeous body. Up, in, down, until just the head of his cock remained and then _SLAM,_ back up again, sending his mate’s head rocking on his shoulders.

 

“Fuck yourself on my cock, pet, if you want to come, if you want to be mine.” He gripped those hips with both hands, helping his inexperienced lover to roll his groin just right into his upward thrusts, making sure it caught his pleasure spot with every jerk. That glorious (albeit too skinny) body above him was twitching with spasms again, his cock throbbing, his balls tight and hot as he neared his end.

 

Barely withdrawing at all now, Fenrir was grinding hard up into the desperate gyrations of Potter’s hips and he snarled out his exhilaration to the forest with animal fervour. He fisted the erection in his grasp until he felt the boy’s first orgasm during sex splatter up over his chest and stomach. The frenzied tremors of that body milked his own climax out of him and Fenrir rolled backwards as the last spurt of semen painted his mate’s insides.

 

Potter fell flat against his chest, their sticky bodies pressed together, the boy’s hard pants falling against his neck and his cock still buried in Potter’s quivering arse.

 

“Bite me,” Fenrir growled out, only just remembering. “You have to bite me to bind us, it’s the final sealing of the ritual…” He was a bit breathless too, more than he’d like, but that thought was ripped from him as he felt the body above and around him tense. And not in pleasure.

 

Harry shoved himself up and off of the werewolf in one stumbling movement. His arse burned as he tore away from that thick cock. He snarled aloud in agony and tumbled backwards on the bank where he scrambled to wrap the discarded fur cloak around him. A wince broke across his features as he felt thick liquid oozing from his arse – fluid he was certain wasn’t blood. He could smell it, he could smell their sex in the air and it made him giddy with nausea. But worse than that, he could feel Greyback’s presence in his mind now.

 

The connection was like an echo, a ghost of somebody else in his mind, not unlike the feeling of someone standing behind you. He couldn’t read his thoughts but he certainly _felt_ the beast’s emotions. Lust and frustration all mixed together in post-coital bliss. It was stronger than before, everything was stronger.

 

Harry’s limbs were quaking suddenly and not just with the cold licking at his sweat-dampened skin. “W-What – what did you do to me?” Harry demanded, wiping frantically at the smears of blood Greyback had painted on his skin. The werewolf stood and Harry scrambled back against the trunk of the nearest tree, the willow that’s branches hung into the water nearby. “What did you do?!” he roared, his voice stronger now but still shaking.

 

Greyback frowned, his silver locks hanging damp just short of his shoulders. Harry’s semen still painted his lightly furred torso and the sight of it, pearly white and glistening in the moonlight made Harry turn away in repulsion. It had felt like a haze of carefree obliviousness settling over him when the moon heat had taken over. He’d been aware and conscious but his body had made the decisions. Everything except his base instincts, the desire for food, comfort, protection and sex had filled him up until he was an inferno of need that only Greyback could sate. He had been aware through it all and what was worse…he’d _liked it!_

 

He shook his head frantically. Greyback must’ve done something to make him act like such a wanton bitch!

 

“Your hormones took over that’s all, you sated them with me that’s why you came back to yourself once we’d both squirted,” Greyback said gruffly, staring down at him, his great body silhouetted against the pale moonlight. Harry winced at his grotesque wording and the way that the moon was illuminating all of his muscles in all their glory.

 

“You’ll learn to control your heat with every moon,” Greyback added, stopping a few inches in front of Harry. “It’s nature, all werewolves go through this–”

 

“I’m not a werewolf!” Harry snapped, fighting the urge to leap up and smack the smirk from the brute’s face. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him naked and leaking with the bastard’s spunk. “Everything I’m feeling now, it’s only happening because you bloody bit me!”

 

“It’s happening because one of your parents carried the dormant gene,” Greyback corrected him, his voice gruff and harsh – cautionary. “Any wolf who bit you would have awoken it, it’s something that was already inside you, something you inherited–”

 

“But if you’d never bitten me it would’ve remained dormant!” Harry insisted. “This is your fault! Why did you have to bloody bite me?”

 

“The same reason your instincts chose me to display to instead of the other wolves back there,” Greyback growled, “You were the best, the superior choice – everything I need and want. That’s how werewolves choose. We mate for life, after all...”

 

Harry winced, not only for the truth he sensed in the wolf’s words but also the throbbing cramps that were beginning to ripple through his arse and stomach. _Fuck, it hurts._ He pulled the fur more tightly around him so that Greyback would not see him rubbing his aching stomach beneath it. It felt like his innards had been stretched and pounded into a complete new shape. It had felt good at the time, well…not good as such, _intense_ – nothing with Greyback could be considered good.

 

“It took me over,” Harry murmured under his breath, “I didn’t care about anything but…”

 

“Fucking the best stud?” Greyback finished for him, his voice full of arrogance. “That’s heat for you, pet. It happens to us all. Humans get it too when they’re in the zone. Don’t make out you didn’t enjoy it–”

 

“The fact that I enjoyed it was the bloody problem!” Harry hissed. “I don’t want to be some alpha’s bitch and squeeze your rotten spawn out of my body. I don’t want this!”

 

“Part of you must do, pet,” Greyback contradicted him huskily, his blue eyes shining darkly in the ethereal moonlight. The rim of gold that had shone within had completely vanished now. “Part of you longs for this, longs for a big strong alpha to protect and care for you, to breed you – or else your wolf wouldn’t have chosen me.”

Shock at the truth of that statement reverberated through Harry’s blood like the vibrations of sound carrying through a cymbal. It cut him deeper than anything else Greyback had said because it was a truth he had been fearing since he had come to his senses. What if subconsciously he _did_ want what Greyback could offer, even if he didn’t want Greyback himself? His instincts, the wolf inside him would have acted on that, wouldn’t it? Protection, security, comfort, never to be hungry again – a family…

 

He’d always longed for all of those things since he was old enough to understand that they were what was missing from his life of neglect. The wolf in him didn’t care that Harry’s human consciousness didn’t want to gain all of that this way, it simply acted and chose the best solution. The best choice of ‘stud’ just as Greyback had said.

 

Nausea and bile rose up in his throat then. His bruised stomach lurched and he threw himself hands first onto his hands and knees, vomiting up the contents of his stomach onto the dewy grass. He wretched and choked until it felt like his battered insides were in knots. His body shook uncontrollably. He had done this to himself with his own pitiful desires. His childhood longings had brought him here, bound to Greyback for the rest of his life.

 

Greyback was still watching him, had not moved even when the fur had dropped from Harry’s shoulders. But when Harry collapsed onto his side next to his own vomit, the Alpha leant down. Harry did not even cringe, he was too exhausted to in every way possible. He did wince however, when an inhuman sound of pain skittered over his lips unbidden. It sounded horribly like a whine.

 

The werewolf pulled the fur back over him and rolled him onto his other side, letting him lay down away from his sick. Then he stood. “You’ll get used to all of this,” Greyback said gruffly, “it can hardly be so bloody awful can it? To finally have what you’ve always secretly longed for?”

 

Harry didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, wishing it would all go away, wishing it would all end…

 

Then it hit him. A lightning bolt pierced his misery like a dagger through his vulnerable flesh. He couldn’t just roll over and die, he _wouldn’t_! There were people depending on him, people he loved. This was just one more obstacle to overcome. If he could kill a basilisk at twelve years old, he could escape a werewolf. He lay perfectly still as Greyback sat down on the edge of the bank a few feet from him.

 

Despite the fact that his connection to Greyback was shielding his mind from Voldemort, he was still out there and so were his horcruxes. He, Harry still had a job to do. _And when it’s over, I can still have everything my instincts think they can only get from Greyback; comfort, a family. Except with someone that I choose, someone I love,_ his mind whispered conspiratorially, as he contemplated his escape tomorrow under the cover of the full moon.

 

Suddenly. Greyback’s coarse, bark of a voice sliced through his reverie. “You need to bite me,” he said simply, “mark me as yours to seal our bond.”

 

Harry opened his eyes and saw Greyback watching him from across the dark grass, the reflections of moonlight off the water dancing over his body. “And why would I do that? I don’t _want_ you.” At this, Greyback growled warningly. Harry sneered, his fire returning to his voice a little despite his throbbing stomach and arse. “Oh, sorry did I offend you? It’s the truth, _Greyback,_ ”

 

“Our bodies will pine for the completion. It’s up to you if you want to suffer just because you’re too much of a coward to admit your own desires,” Greyback snapped in response. “You want me, pet. You can’t lie to me.”

 

Harry grit his teeth. _Just until tomorrow night, just until tomorrow night,_ he reminded himself firmly. “Don’t call me _pet_ ,” Harry warned, forcing himself to think of his freedom tomorrow to ground him in place. He couldn’t beat Greyback without a wand, not even with werewolf blood coursing through him. The only chance was to escape him tomorrow, under the cover of the full moon, which even now he could feel _buzzing_ through his veins.

 

 

 

The next morning it was the deep ache in his belly and arse that awoke him. He must have just rolled over, for the pain jerked him awake. He groaned in agony and opened his eyes only to see the sunlight filtered by a thick veil of fur. Pushing off the fur, he winced as he sat up, the cloak falling uselessly to his lap. That unnerving _hot_ feeling had returned – he felt quite giddy again, though nowhere near as bad as yesterday. He was stark naked beneath the fur cloak still and there was no sign of Greyback except the dying fire nearby and the food that lay cooling and cooked on a clean slate of rock beside it.

 

_And the fact that he pulled the fur over your head so you wouldn’t be woken up by the sun,_ a niggling, infuriating voice whispered at the back of his mind.

 

_So he could suffocate me more like,_ Harry bit back, taking a final glance around to ensure he was alone before staggering out from under the cover of the blanket. His sore belly was roiling now with lack of sustenance. He didn’t so much as hesitate before plonking himself down on the riverbank and attacking the skinned, gutted and deboned fish with relish.

 

At first he’d thought it looked a little raw for his taste but it tasted perfect. The flavour burst in his mouth like nothing before, his superior werewolf taste-buds delighting in every bite. He could feel everything better, see everything clearer than before. An experiment of taking off his glasses left him disappointed that he still needed them to see perfectly, but nowhere near as badly as he’d needed them before.

 

He was glad Hermione had charmed the lenses to adapt to his ever-changing eyesight years ago…

 

Slipping his glasses back on, he chugged down the rest of the fish and instantly wrinkled his nose. The clearing reeked of sex. _He_ reeked of sex, of blood and come and… He could still feel Greyback’s spendings, dried and uncomfortable between his arse cheeks. He had to wash it off! Wash every last inch of Fenrir Greyback off his skin. His stomach churned warningly, still aching and not appreciating the speed in which he had gulped down his breakfast – nor the haste in which he leapt to his feet. Without pause he dropped into the chilly water of the stream, the coldness hitting him like an icy punch, a sharp lash of steel against his sore arse and aching belly.

 

Harry shivered, but didn’t stop. He ducked down in the water, submerging himself until he was holding his breath beneath the water. He surfaced and then repeated the action, again and again until he was gasping for air and scrubbing his skin raw with his hands.

 

With a hiss of pain, Harry rubbed between his legs, gingerly scrubbing the dried fluids from his arse. It stung, but the pain only hardened his resolve to cleanse himself of last night as much as possible. When the moon came up tonight, he would leave this all behind him. It would remain a forgotten nightmare and nothing more. He would go on as if nothing had changed.

 

But then finally, a rogue thought stopped him. He _was_ changed. He was part wolf now, or at least it had awoken. Would he be able to hide that from Hermione and Ron? From _Remus_? Suddenly, he realised with an odd numbness that he was also no longer a virgin anymore. He stared unseeingly out across the still water. Mist still lapped at the edge of the clearing so that the boundary line of the trees was barely visible.

 

He caressed his sore crack with his index finger and winced. Yes, he was definitely not a virgin anymore. It almost felt as if Greyback’s monster of a cock was still in there, like an echo. He flushed darkly despite himself. He had no idea how that had fit inside him. It was monstrous!

 

Without thinking, his free hand passed over the mark over his throat and then down his body, skimming his chest and stomach, his flaccid prick that had been hard and _drooling_ in the fist of Fenrir Greyback only hours before. He could still feel the ghost of that brash, demanding and unyielding touch all over him. Was that because they were bonded? Mated?

 

_I came all over him, whining and howling like an animal,_ he recalled with disdain, his belly churning more ferociously but his prick twitching at the memory. The filling of his arse had definitely not been good – intense, overwhelming yes. But the pressure around his cock, the feel of coarse, large fingers playing his most sensitive place… He gasped. There was no way in hell he could honestly say that felt bad.

 

Reaching down absently, he tugged his foreskin back, teasing the little line of flesh under the head that Greyback had found. His head rolled on his neck and his eyes snapped shut. Whenever he’d jerked himself to completion under the sheets and behind the hangings of his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, he’d never had time to explore and discover such places.

 

Just as his prick hardened, however, he felt his arse twitch, felt the flesh become more slick under his fingertip – even under water. Harry remembered distinctly now the feeling of white-hot fluid oozing from his crack last night, recalled Greyback’s infuriating chuckle and teasing words _, “Luckily your genes take care of things during your receptive period, the moon tells you you’re ready for mating and your body answers by making you able to accept me easier.”_

 

What did that mean?

 

“Hmmm, the smell – I’d heard of it but I never knew it would make my mouth _water_!”

 

Harry whirled around at the sound of that voice. Flying back from the river’s edge, he saw the twins from yesterday, Canagan and Caleb eyeing him hungrily from the bank. “Get the fuck away from me!” Harry snarled, sliding backwards in the water as they stepped closer. They were on the edge of the bank now.

“Fiesty,” Caleb growled, leaning down on the bank to bring their eyes level now. His own gaze was dark and wanting, as if overcome in the same way Harry had been last night. They were not part of Greyback’s pack, they would have no qualms about taking him despite the smell of claiming hanging thick in the air. If they deemed him worth fighting Greyback over. Hadn’t Greyback said their bond was not final, after all?

 

_They smelled me touching myself,_ he realised, his cheeks colouring despite himself. The twins leered at him.

 

“That’s it baby,” purred Canagan, who was kneeling also now. “Come over here and we’ll let you choose which one of us you can have first…”

 

The heat that had been buzzing through him since he awoke was surging up in his head now, making him stumble in the water. His body was hot and still unclaimed. His alpha had gone somewhere… Was he abandoned? The bond wasn’t complete, he still felt empty, vulnerable. He couldn’t bear it.

 

Suddenly, two hands seized his arms, hauling him out of the water and laying him out flat on the riverbank underneath the twins that now hovered above him. “Or would you like us both at once?” Caleb asked, his humid breath dancing across Harry’s skin as he pinned Harry’s arms above his head on the damp grass.

 

Harry squirmed. He was too hot, too dizzy with need. His body was ready for breeding, he needed to be fully mated to conceive tonight. He needed to be taken. Thrusting his hips up, Harry made a pining sound, throwing his head to the side and arching his neck back wantonly. He felt so confused. His alpha was gone? He’d abandoned him when he’d needed him most?

 

Harry’s instincts vibrated through his bones. His arse clenched at the memory of last night. Had he displeased his alpha? Is that why he’d left? The moon was so close and he was shaking with desperation now. “Need… _need_ ,” he tried to say, his mouth suddenly dry, his cock hard and arching back into his belly which still ached and twisted with each movement he made.

 

“Hush poppet,” Canagan growled, his fingers trailing down Harry’s front appreciatively. His palm rested over Harry’s stomach, the pressure making Harry wince. The hand didn’t retract. “You’d look so good with your belly full – that’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s the whole point of your existence?”

 

Harry rolled his head on his neck and stared up at the identical wolves above him. They were not his alpha, not his choice and they would have to prove themselves if they wished to replace him. He squirmed again, trying to free himself but the hand on his belly pressed harder, making him cry out and fall still. The other twin’s hands pushed down on his wrists.

 

This time Harry growled. He kicked and struggled and when one of them dipped their auburn heads to taste the unmarked side of his throat he snapped at them, his teeth bared. This wasn’t right, they hadn’t proven themselves – he hadn’t chosen them! An agonised howl left his lips then and he threw his head up, slamming it hard into Caleb’s so that the wolf instinctively let go of his wrists.

 

Kicking Canagan away from him, Harry rolled onto his hands and knees and scrambled away. A vice-like grip seized his ankle and without thinking he seized a fist full of dirt and threw it into his assailant’s face. A hard _smack_ cracked across his face in answer, sending his head snapping to the side.

 

Pain spread across his jaw like white-hot fire through the undergrowth. He fell back hard into the ground, stunned from the blow. They were stronger than he was physically and for a moment he couldn’t move.

 

“Play nice, bitch if you want us to treat you right,” Caleb murmured, seizing Harry’s knees where they lay, pressed together and pulled tight up to his body in a final defence. Little lights had burst behind Harry’s eyes at that strike. He felt dizzy but still fought the hands urging his legs apart.

 

“Come on,” Canagan grunted, seizing Harry’s chin and turning him roughly to face him, his thumb digging into the bruise beginning to form on his tender cheek. “Nice little bitches get their bellies filled. You’re ripe for it. Wolves mate for life but once you’re mated you can turn any stud’s seed into a litter.” He leered down at Harry, his free hand caressing his belly again. “You just need the bond to tell your body to make the right reactions, after that you’re anyone’s game no matter what _tradition_ says and Fenrir _Alpha_ Greyback isn’t here to stop me, is he?”

 

Caleb chuckled, shoving Harry’s thighs brutally apart and staring down at his flagging penis in delight. But just as he reached down Harry threw all of his strength into his leg and kicked the wolf hard in the crotch. The beast howled and rolled back while his twin shoved Harry roughly back into the dirt when he tried to flee. The fist that had struck him once before rose again, soaring down towards his still throbbing face.

 

A sickening crack filled the air. A howl of pain followed it and Harry winced, staying perfectly still as he stared up at the terrifying sight of Fenrir Greyback. Those lips were drawn back over his teeth in a snarl, eyes gold and flecked with rage. His fingers were digging hard into Canagan’s hand, twisting the limb back at an unnatural angle until his wrist visibly snapped. It hung uselessly when Greyback released it and the red-head stumbled back, screaming and cradling his broken wrist.

 

“I thought even mongrels like you would know a claiming circle when you smelled one,” Greyback growled dangerously, his otherworldly eyes fixed on the twins as they slowly rose upwards. He snarled warningly and they remained on their knees. “I laid one so thick around here that even runts like you could smell!” He glanced down at Harry then, who lay frozen still.

 

His alpha was angry, furious in fact but his body language, his offensive stance was not aimed at him. Slowly, cautiously he rolled onto the balls of his feet, staring up at Greyback to gauge his reaction. The wolf was watching him unyieldingly. So he hadn’t abandoned him after all, he had left him with a protective claim around the area – the kind he knew (somehow) that subs couldn’t smell.

 

Determined to show his contrition for how he had behaved after their mating last night (which he only vaguely recalled in his hazy state) he rocked forward until he was pressed against Greyback’s leg. He whined softly when Greyback didn’t respond and rolled his hips in desperate gyrations against that softly haired leg. He was humping his leg urgently, trying to express his need as words had evaded him. Still Greyback didn’t move, didn’t accept him.

 

Desperate now to keep his alpha that he had so offended, Harry dropped himself onto all fours in front of him, pressing his chest to the ground, his arse up in the air – inviting. At last he heard Greyback move behind him and he swayed his hips a fraction in answer, but those hands merely seized him roughly, tossing him back onto his arse and throwing his discarded clothes at him from the night before.

 

“Not for their eyes,” Greyback snarled before turning back to the twins once more. “I’ll kill you for touching him–”

 

“He was hardly saying no until the end,” Caleb hissed as his brother continued to whimper in pain under his breath. “And the bond is incomplete – I can smell it, maybe he _wants_ a little variation.”

 

 

Suddenly Greyback’s stance tightened, his muscles bunched as if poised to launch him into battle. He growled ominously again. _He wasn’t in a position to refuse with his first heat burning inside him like that,_ Greyback thought, but instead said aloud, “It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s mine, he chose me last night and I’ll be all his body ever knows until the day he dies. The mating bond is for life–”

 

“And just who said you get to keep the one breeder left alive in probably the whole country?” Canagan hissed through clenched fangs, still clutching his distorted wrist. “Why should you be the only one to beget live young? You claimed him for yourself without giving anyone else a chance to stake a claim!”

 

Fenrir surged forwards, so that he was standing directly in front of his two adversaries. “He chose me out of all your lot last night–”

 

“There are other werewolves out there who will fight you for the rights to breed him,” Caleb murmured, “I’ll fight you for him right now!”

 

Greyback scoffed. “With no one to see you fall?” he shook his head and made his way back over to Harry without a second glance back at them. Harry hadn’t taken his eyes off him and now he was kneeling before him, Harry stared up at him like a patient puppy waiting for recognition. He was dressed again, Fenrir noticed and wrapped in his fur cloak. He smirked. Unconsciously, the boy seemed to like the comfort it offered.

 

He gripped his mate’s chin then, turning his head a fraction to better see the bruise forming over his cheek. He frowned and grit his teeth. “Bring them all, spread the word that I’ve claimed him as mine and bring anyone who’ll challenge me. I’ll tear you all apart and lay your heads at his feet as a mating gift.” He leant in then, swiping at the boy’s wounded cheek with his tongue. The chin in his grasp tensed but did not pull away. He licked again, and again until he felt the bruise begin to fade away before it had chance to fully bloom.

 

When he drew back, the blemish was gone and the boy was still watching him. “Don’t wait too long to return though,” Fenrir said to the twins, turning to face them again, “I still have to finish paying you back for touching my sub.” With that he scooped a fully dressed boy into his arms, cloak and all and walked calmly out of the clearing, into the mist.

 

Harry was rubbing at himself frantically, his breath coming out in hot pants against Fenrir’s neck. “I know,” Fenrir growled under his breath. He could feel the boy’s need rolling off him in waves. The moon was introducing herself to his mate with unconquerable fervour. “Hold still for a bit longer and I’ll satisfy you,” he promised, voice husky.

 

“Y-You… _swore_ …” the boy managed out his words slightly strangled with desire and instinct.  

 

“And I don’t break my promises, pet,” Fenrir said, and with a final cursory sniff of the air that ensured they were out of earshot of the vile twins, he broke into a run. His resolve not to throw the boy down on the leaves and take him was crumbling at the sweet, hot aroma rising up his nostrils with every squirm the body in his arms made. The forest floor was not an option tonight, he needed to get the boy safely out of the way for his first full moon at least.

 

_He’s still too insolent and headstrong, he’ll get himself hurt by refusing to submit when he needs to if I meet him as a wolf under the full moon._ The full moon stole the mind of even the most practiced wolf. It was unavoidable, they were ruled for the night purely by instinct. And since the boy’s instincts hadn’t had chance to bloom fully yet, he wouldn’t have the instinctual knowledge of how to react to him.

 

_He won’t know how to submit to a riled up wolf with no conscience. How to act or respond,_ Fenrir thought as the boy nuzzled into his chest urgently, palming his arousal through his clothes, unaware of anything except the need to rut and breed in his ‘moon heat’ daze. _He’s sure to get himself hurt if he crosses my path tonight, mate or no mate…_

_~To Be Continued..._


	4. Run Rabbit Run

Author's Note:

Just to let you know, the names featured in this chapter are pronounced thusly (some people's experiences of the name may vary however depending on their location/accent):

Shae: is pronounced 'shay' - sh [as in 'ship'] and ai [as in 'pain']

Eithne: is pronounced 'eth-nih' - eth [as in 'ethnic'] and ni [as in 'nib']

 

Thank you for enjoying my story so far. Please leave me a comment if you can spare a moment to let me know how you're enjoying it :)

 

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.: Chapter Four :.

Run Rabbit Run

 

 

 

Greyback grit his teeth as the sweet perfume of the boy’s arousal threatened to rob him of his senses. His hands were still rubbing himself frantically under the cover of the fur cloak, his face was flushed and his breath was still dancing across Fenrir’s collarbone with maddening fervour. _Just a bit longer,_ Fenrir told himself sternly as he took longer, faster strides to his destination.

 

The village of Shae, a place he knew well was bustling cheerily with the early afternoon tasks. No one even turned as he walked through the grey stone path towards the modest stone house he knew just as well. The roof of each old English building was slate grey, built with shallow gradients to cover the quant single story homes.

 

Once on the outskirt of the modest market, he moved into the arched doorway of one of the larger homes and without knocking, stepped inside. “Eithne, it’s me!” he called gruffly, bypassing the cosy living area that housed (among other cosy necessities) a large solid wooden table and matching chairs. A cauldron was bubbling within an inglenook fireplace, carved from the same cobblestone as the rest of the village. He pushed open a door at the far side and walked into a deserted bedroom, where he dropped his charge unceremoniously onto the fur-lined bed and turned to see Eithne standing in the doorway.

She was a slender, elegant looking old woman with shining silver hair pulled up off her neck in tight curls. Although she was in no way youthful any longer, she was still beautiful in her own right and in no way weak. Her ice-blue eyes glistened vibrantly in the sunlight streaming in through the large window.

 

“Cutting your visit fine are you not?” she asked with dulcet tones, scanning him up and down with those wily azure orbs. “Or do you claim that the great Alpha Fenrir Greyback is above remembering the moon cycle now?”

 

Before he could even open his mouth to answer, she spied the young body on the bed, writhing, twisting and coiling in on itself as if in pain. Her eyes widened.

 

“You’ve bitten him!” she accused, “so close to the moon? You…you–”

 

“As if I’d do such a spiteful thing,” he snarled at her. “You’ve started to listen to the tripe they say about me, eh? And I thought you wiser than that.” He glared at her before crossing the room, pulling back the boy’s cloak to expose the iridescent pink mark at his throat. “He’s like my mother, he carries the blood in his veins. He’s mine.”

 

The old woman stepped closer. Ignoring the low, instinctually possessive growl Fenrir offered as she drew near, she rested the back of her hand against the boy’s forehead. The way she glanced to the now unmistakeable movement of his hands over his groin told Fenrir she knew what ailed Potter now.

 

“Moon heat,” she said, stepping back from him. “His first?”

 

Fenrir nodded, irritation prickling through his skin. His patience, his mood was tense with the moon heat burning through him, biting and gnawing at him with every desire and emotion heightened to the extreme. He wanted to shove her aside and slam balls deep into his boy to satisfy his cries of need. He wanted, he _needed_ …

 

But he was in control of all of that. He was the alpha. He needed to be.

 

“His instincts haven’t… _bloomed_ enough yet. He’s not ready to see me during a full moon. He’ll stay here with you, but in this room,” he paused then, glancing between his mate and the old woman. “I think you know why it’s so important that he doesn’t leave this room until I collect him at dawn.”

 

Eithne looked over the boy a final time before giving him, Fenrir the smallest infraction of a nod. With this, Fenrir crossed the room, shrugging off the shirt he had only attained that morning along with his trousers. Eithne didn’t so much as blush, on the contrary she moved forwards and snatched up his dirty clothes, holding her arm out to him impatiently. “Give me those rags the boy is wearing. They’re filthy. Not fit for a stray mongrel,” she snapped.

 

Fenrir leant down, completely unconcerned about his nakedness and opened the fur cloak to reveal his mate’s desperate writhing body beneath. Sweat permeated his flesh so profusely that his clothes clung to him with it, his perfect pinkish nipples erect and visible through the white shirt. His cock was hard and arching up in his trousers and when Fenrir’s hands moved to his shirt collar to begin to undress him, the boy turned his head towards him dazedly.

 

A desperate, whimpering groan left those flushed lips. Those impossibly green eyes were shining wetly with desire. His lips worried Fenrir’s knuckles desperately, teeth grazing the flesh as his hands shot up to Fenrir’s, gripping his wrists and trying to tug them down flat to his body with urgency. “T-Touch!” The boy gasped out, his voice not his own. “Fuck – breed – take–!”

 

“Be still!” Fenrir snarled, shoving Potter’s hands to the bed. “You stink of them. I want these clothes off you!” His tone made Potter still, made him turn his head to bare his throat in submission. Fenrir growled lowly in the back of his throat, his own cock rising at the sight of it. _Yes_ , he thought, _he’s learning it quick. By next full moon he will be ready to share it with me as he was born to…_

“You have courted him in the traditional manner,” Eithne said. Her calm voice cut through the atmosphere of the room which was swiftly becoming so intense that Fenrir was finding it hard to breathe in _anything_ but the boy and his need.

 

“You awoke the werewolf in him?” she asked. Fenrir said nothing but as always she seemed to know the answer without him giving it aloud. “And he chose you?”

 

“He was… _reserved_ about it when he woke up with his human senses in tact,” Fenrir began in a tone of indifference. Eithne nodded.

 

“Common for those not awoken when they are younger. He needs time to accept the other half of himself, they all do,” she said before snatching up the boy’s clothes that Fenrir had quickly stripped off the suddenly very still body on the bed. She strode across the room and looked back at him from the doorway, an odd look on her pale, wrinkled face. “I realise that your very nature makes it difficult, but try to be patient with him. He needs time to adjust to everything that is changing inside of him.”

 

Fenrir grunted, frustrated, still angry and impossibly aroused. He was not interested in a lecture of patience from the village’s matriarch. Suddenly the patience of the boy on the bed seemed to vanish too and another animalistic whine burst from his lips. His hands stayed where Fenrir had thrown them but that body squirmed, those eyes burning, pleading as they gazed up him.

 

With his body rigid with the effort of holding back, Fenrir watched him, unmoving, as still as stone. The boy cried again and slid up onto his knees, apparently unaware of the third body in the room as he threw himself forward onto his belly, pulling his knees tightly under himself and exposing his raised arse.

 

The sound of a door closing cut through the sound of the boy’s panting and Fenrir turned to see that at last Eithne had taken her leave and closed the door behind her. _At long bloody last,_ Fenrir thought scathingly of the old, interfering know-it-all trout. His boy was shaking all over now, his body flushed all over and another troubled sound came from him as he reached back and parted his own cheeks to expose his puckered opening. It still looked thoroughly abused from the night before.

 

Cursing under his breath, Fenrir slid onto the bed behind the smaller body, gripping the tight round globes of the boy’s arse. He tugged them as far open as they would go, making his mate pant harder. That dark head was turned to the side now so that Fenrir could see his flustered, desperate expression perfectly. But it was just as pitiable as it was arousing.

 

Being denied release during moon heat was nothing short of torture.

 

Fenrir’s thumb ghosted over that twitching ring of flesh. The boy hissed and winced but didn’t move away from him. He had been rough on him last night, too rough Fenrir realised and he drew back slightly. He did not like the feeling that rose in his chest upon realising that he had caused suffering where he had sworn to protect.

 

“Y-You… _swore_ …” Potter panted then, just as he had earlier and Fenrir gripped his arse cheeks firmer in reassurance. He leant down so that his mouth was scant centimetres above that peachy arse, watching that sore opening clench as his breath danced across it. The boy groaned happily and tried to push back into him, but Fenrir had his hips gripped tightly.

 

“And I don’t break my promises, certainly not to my mate,” Fenrir answered. He pushed at Potter's hips until he was upside down with his weight resting on his shoulders, his body almost vertical with his arse in the air and his legs folded loosely to his body. He was bent nearly in half and panting, whining hungrily under Fenrir’s power.

 

“I’ve wanted to take you again since I woke up,” Fenrir breathed, spreading those cheeks again with his hands and supporting him in the awkward position simultaneously. He could see his mate’s cock hanging down into that flushed face, leaking droplets of pre-emission. He mewled up at him and Fenrir’s own prick throbbed. “Such a good boy. I’ll satisfy you,” Fenrir growled, flicking that delicate little place he had so abused last night with his tongue. His boy cried out in animalistic bliss and that ring of muscles tightened under his mouth.

 

 

The alpha’s stubble was scratching lightly, maddeningly against Harry's arse cheeks and he gripped the bed beneath him with his tightly coiled fingers, helpless to even push back into that delicious mouth in his position. He was thoroughly dominated and protected, allowed to lay back and let someone else care for him – he was elated. His lips parted with incoherent sounds of pained pleasure. That mouth was devouring him with wet sounds of hunger. He was sure he was going to burst!

 

Harry wanted to squirm, wanted to roll his hips back but was forced to remain still as that tongue flickered back and forth across his hole, breaking the pattern by circling his entrance diligently. The stinging ache in his backside had resided, leaving way for nothing but white-hot pleasure in his madly clenching chute. He felt his orifice twitching like a starving mouth, hungry to be filled with more than a tongue.

 

The slick appendage wiggled into his channel now, tasting him noisily and deeply. “Such a good boy. All mine,” he felt his alpha pant against his hole before drawing back, grazing his perineum with his fangs and dipping down to suck one of his taut balls into his mouth. Harry was blind in this position to what was going on but he felt it all and cried out his pleasure for his alpha to hear.

 

A long finger slid into his hole, slick with saliva and his own lubricating juices. It crooked and massaged the special place inside him just as that wicked mouth began to worship the other side of his sac. Harry felt his own pre-cum drip onto his chin and opened his eyes in a mixture of surprise and ecstasy as a second finger joined the first in the assault on his prostate.

 

His alpha’s prick was full and heavy, swollen with need just above his face. It smelt so hot and musky, so good and he couldn’t help himself, he craned his neck and flicked his tongue at the seeping slit. Above him his alpha gasped, his every muscle stiffened and the fingers in Harry's arse twisted punishingly, deliciously inside of him until he swore he saw stars.

 

The moon wasn’t out yet but she was singing in his ears, making his skin hum with the symphony of need burning inside him. She was telling him what he needed above all else. And he needed the beast above him, his mate. He wanted to bite him, to seal them together but just as he turned his head to nip at a muscled, lightly haired thigh he was flipped right way up and rolled pulled to sit astride his alpha’s cock.

 

“Oh, baby,” the alpha panted as he stared up at him, his large hands running all over his body, as if wanting to devour him whole. Harry moaned in bliss at the touch, elated to feel so wanted, so protected as he (somehow) knew he’d never felt before. He couldn’t remember much of the world outside this embrace but he knew no one had ever made him feel like this before.

 

His oozing prick was pressed tightly against the bigger one below and he grinded into it shamelessly as those nature roughened fingertips caressed every inch of him. He steadied himself by placing his hands back on his alpha’s strong thighs and gyrated his hips urgently. A throaty groan fell from his lips when fingers tightened in his hair and a thumb slid into his mouth, seizing the moment to tease his tongue.

 

“Perfect,” Alpha growled, bumping Harry forward with his thighs so that his impressive cock was primed and sliding tantalising along the valley between his cheeks. The action spread the natural lubrication weeping from Harry's crack across the head. Harry panted, his hands lying on his alpha’s heaving chest as his eyes closed. Yes, this was what he wanted, what he needed to be complete. Everything that his alpha had vowed to him last night was everything he had ever dared to hope for since he was old enough to understand what was missing from his life.

 

Suddenly one hand gripped his hips firmly, stopping him from sliding back towards that thick cock, while the other gripped his throat. The thumb grazed his jaw line, silently demanding he open his eyes and when Harry did so, he saw azure blue darkened with lust glaring up at him.

 

“I was rough on you last night, pet,” Alpha said, and Harry frowned. He didn’t understand. “It’s not in me to be anything else, but I will never injure you like that again, understand?” His voice was coarse and husky as ever, but his tone’s seriousness was flecked with an emotion Harry could not identify, especially not with the moon heat clouding his mind.

 

The hand on his hip urged him back until Harry felt the swollen head of his mate’s cock pressing directly up against his slick hole. He panted eagerly, but did not release his hold on those eyes – they held his in a mesmerising grip. “You’ll ride me until the moon signals her approach, pet. And then you’ll sleep here, wait for me until I come get you at dawn. You’re not to leave this room. Understand?”

 

That tone was inarguable, with no room to manoeuvre and Harry nodded frantically, willing to do anything his alpha wanted, to be a good mate, to please the man below him. To take his essence inside him…

 

Only when Harry had nodded several times and cried out in urgency, bucking back into his alpha’s cock did the hand at his throat slide down to the other side of his hip, gripping it tightly.

 

“Put it in yourself, pet,” Alpha breathed roughly, his voice dropping an octave with desire now, all ferocity and severity diminished and replaced with want. “Take your alpha’s favourite part into you.”

 

Harry bore down onto the thick hardness pressing against him and growled with feral satisfaction as his entrance (healed by his Alpha's tongue) swallowed that cock whole, gravity taking him down to the base, where he snarled in pleasure. Beneath him, he felt his alpha fall completely prey to his instincts too, gripping his hips so tightly that his claws sank into his flesh a little, his teeth bared with deep-throated groans.

 

The moon sang sweeter and louder then, urging his hips into motion, into sharp, desperate gyrations over the thickness inside him. He angled his hips slightly, just enough to catch his own weeping organ between his and Fenrir's bodies and to ensure that cock jabbed the place that made his head spin with every thrust.

 

Incapable of human thought now, Harry leant down and let a string of strangled, animal cries tear from his lips as he rode the beast beneath him. He was hungry for the climax he had been denied – for the sensation of being filled until he was ready to burst. His alpha reached up then, seizing his shoulders and shoving him hard onto his back.

 

The connection of their bodies never broke but once the wolf took his place above him, Harry felt the full power of his mate's unbridled lust tear through him. Fenrir snarled and pressed his hands into the bed either side of Harry, so that his thick arms framed Harry's body as he pounded into him. The brutality and pleasure was overwhelming.

Harry's hands floundered in thin air before seizing those tensed biceps. His nails bit into the flesh there in release of his thrill. His cock spattered semen across his belly as his inner fluids surged, slicking every frenzied thrust within him. Each movement jerked him roughly back and forth on the bed, each roar from his Alpha's lips tugged a dazed, pleasured cry from his own. It was too much. He was going to burst! It was heaven.

 

Suddenly the wolf leant in close without breaking the unyielding rhythm of his thrusts. The hot mouth offering such brutal sounds caught the marked side of Harry's throat in hungry passion, the wolf’s noises carrying through his skin. The vibrations spread through his body, making every inch of him throb. Teeth grazed and nipped roughly while a devilish tongue soothed each action, driving Harry mad with a constantly changing tide of pleasure and near-pain. He felt his alpha claiming him with rough bruising kisses across his throat, his collarbone, his shoulders. Each sloppy and rough but maddening with their fervour.

 

Harry humped his alpha's chest, grinding his prick into his belly and rocking back into the deepening thrusts in his backside. That cock was barely leaving him now. Those balls were pressing up against him in a way that told him his mate was trying to get as deep as he could go. Harry swore he could feel that impossible erection in his throat and he choked on another groan as his arse began to clench and spasm wetly.

 

A rough, stubbly kiss to his jaw and a calloused thumb circling his nipple sent him over the edge. He came with an animal's snarl, his body arching like a bowstring.

 

In his orgasmic haze, before his body had even stopped shaking with bliss he felt his alpha burst inside him, filling him with white-hot seed. His arse clenched tighter, instinctively trying to hold in every drop. Fenrir Greyback lay down over him. Their bodies were touching but Fenrir's arms resting either side of Harry’s head kept his full weight off of him. They were both panting for breath.

 

Harry gasped for air and relaxed into the tremors shaking him, feeling his mate soften inside him with interest. He felt every ounce of tension dwindle from his limbs and heard the moon whisper that he had time to rest before she rose, before she called them together again to consummate their union.

 

He liked this thoughtless feeling, the lack of knowledge of everything happening in the world outside. He was safe here under his mate's heat, protected and able to rest without planning for the next moment, the next battle. His life had been that before the wolf in him had awoken hadn't it? He wasn't sure. But he was sure that he was tired and that he couldn't see any reason not to allow slumber to take him for a while. His alpha would protect him while he slept.

 

 

Fenrir's breathing evened out. He groaned softly as he lifted completely off his mate to stare down at him. The boy was asleep. He was painted and reeking of their combined essence, his face young and unlined, peaceful in slumber. _It’ll be easier if he continues to sleep,_ Fenrir thought, easing himself off the bed so as not to wake the boy. He wiped their joint fluids off of that lithe body lightly, ensuring he would leave the scent behind. It would be best if the boy smelled of him as much as possible, especially for tonight, despite the fact that he wouldn't be joining him this time. Or leaving the room. It was imperative that neither happen tonight. _He’s not ready,_ Fenrir thought. After _that_ he would likely sleep through most of the night.

 

The boy squirmed happily in his sleep, rolling over and nuzzling into the fur that Fenrir folded over him, lest the air cast a chill over his still sweat-slicked skin. He looked helpless like this, except he wasn’t and for some reason Fenrir liked that. He liked the inner strength it had taken for the boy to withstand weeks of torture at the Dark Lord’s hand. He admired his pride and the stubbornness that matched his own so perfectly.

 

He almost couldn’t wait for the frenzy of the moon heat to die so that he could experience just how wilful he was first hand.

 

A prickle of awareness caressed his sweaty skin and he turned his head to the window, following the call over to it. It looked out onto a quiet garden filled with various vegetables and herbs he knew Eithne grew herself but it was the sky that his eyes fixed on. The day was waning, the moon was calling him. He cast a final glance back at the boy on the bed and closed the shutters against the moon’s summons. It wouldn’t be long now.

 

*                      *                      *

 

It was a swell of static electricity coursing down his spine that jerked Harry awake. He stared around dazedly at the dark room, trying to bring his eyes back into focus. The room reeked of sweat and sex, of musky bodies and it took him a while to adjust to the dimness, enough to finally make out that he was in a bedroom he had never seen before – all alone.

 

Except he _had_ seen it before. Oh Merlin…

He was on a bed that looked rumpled. A few sparse pieces of furniture of no particular interest were dotted around the room. The only door was shut and the grand double windows at the side were sealed by great wooden shutters. Pale light crept in through the slats in the shutters and he froze as his green gaze locked on the ethereal glow. The static sensation prickled all along his spine again as he looked on it. Every hair on his body stood on end. Slowly he got to his feet, as if drawn by some otherworldly power, lured into a trance.

 

Crossing the room, he laid his hands on the shutters, feeling the moonlight cool and powerful against his skin. He bathed in the diminutive light a moment, his entire body thrumming and he closed his eyes, breathing in the smells that filled the room. His fingers tensed on the shutters, preparing to throw them open and expose himself to the moon’s light, but no sooner had the muscles in his arms tensed, than the door opened, breaking his trance.

 

Harry flew to the bed, seizing the fur cloak there and wrapping it around him. He remembered now, remembered the moon heat taking him over in the pool, remembered being set upon by the twins and brought here by Greyback. He even vaguely recalled this woman but the image of what he had done and said and _felt_ in this room with Greyback afterwards was most prominently burned into his mind.

 

Bile rose in his throat at the memory of the noises he had made, but his chest tightened on recalling how it had felt. So… _good_?! He grit his teeth, trying to justify what he had felt, blame it on some outward source, on the moon heat – _anything_. But something inside him (perhaps his slowly awakening instincts) reminded him that all the heat, the moon did was eradicate his human inhibitions. That was why werewolves did nothing but kill, eat, fuck and sleep during the full moon after all. It took away anything that stopped you from concentrating on your most basic needs.

 

_On some level, I wanted this,_ he thought with horror, wincing at the thought, grinding his teeth together _hard_. The elderly woman stepped into the room, a bundle of cloth under one arm and a tray in the opposite hand. She gave him a cursory glance before dropping the bundle onto the bed. “Clean clothes. I’ve tossed away those filthy things you were wearing, they didn’t fit you anyway. I’ve adjusted these for you so they should be fine.”

 

A small round tray was laid beside the cloth and she looked at him again, studying him more closely this time as she said, “Bread and honey. You need sugar in you at this time of the month. But it’s not good for you to have anything too trying on the stomach before sleep.”

 

Harry's brow furrowed with disbelief. “Sleep?” he repeated. “I just woke up after being…” He grit his teeth, swallowing what he had been about to say. “I’m not going to sleep. I’m sorry, I know you’re probably only trying to help but I have to get out of here.”

 

The old woman pushed the tray towards him without acknowledging he had spoken. “I could hear your stomach from the other room while you slept,” she said and Harry finally looked properly at the food. Whether it was his instincts or simply his stomach seizing control of his actions from hunger, he snatched up the bread and was downing the final slice before he had truly realised what he was doing. There was some milk there in a goblet too, which he gulped down before setting it back empty on the tray.

It was only when he was empty handed again that he realised he had acted without pause, without even considering that he didn’t know this woman or if she had poisoned the food or not. Instinctively his hand went to his throat. He was imagining the last of that milk burning as it went down. As if she had sensed his thoughts, the old woman smiled softly.

 

“Even if I wanted to hurt you, young one, your mate would have ripped me to shreds if I did so. And he would never have left me charge of something so precious if I were not trustworthy.”

 

Harry winced. There was that word again, _‘precious’._ He wanted to feel that way, to be most precious to someone as (having no parents or real lovers) he had never been to anyone in his entire life. He wanted it yes, maybe even needed it on some basic level. But he did _not_ want to be Fenrir Greyback’s _anything_! Much less _precious!_

 

“This is ridiculous,” he said at last, without really meaning to say it aloud. That static prickling was addling his brain now. Sweat had started to break out across his skin and it felt a little harder than usual to draw in each breath and keep it there. The moon was singing softly behind the shutters without actually making a noise, simply using the sounds of the world. The wind, the trees, the grass, the animals in the distance, even the breath in his lungs and his own heartbeat thudded together in a low, whispering hum.

 

Harry felt claustrophobic in this room, in this building. He had to get out. _Because I have to escape Greyback,_ he told himself firmly, ignoring the desire burning in his belly to seek the beast out. The rut he’d unwittingly and yet _willingly_ shared with Greyback earlier had sated his urges enough for his mind to take control once more.

 

“I don’t belong to him, I don’t belong _with_ him,” he murmured under his breath. He pulled on the brown trousers, soft-leather shoes and dark green shirt which was still loose but clung more to his form that before. The woman didn’t say anything, just watched him as he dressed, but the moment he moved towards the door, she stood in his path.

 

Harry grit his teeth so hard he swore he heard them creak ominously. “I can admit that this… _wolf blood_ in me is inherited, is part of who I am but _he_ still bit me against my will. He ruined my life – made a life-changing decision for me without my input. Whatever his ‘reasons’ he made a decision that’s changed me forever and I’ve bloody had enough of that. I’ve had enough of losing control of myself around him because of this ‘recessive gene’ that could have remained dormant if he’d left well enough alone!”

 

The woman watched him thoughtfully. “Everything happens for a reason, my boy–”

 

“Yes and _this_ all happened because Fenrir Greyback saw me and thought I’d make a good baby factory!” he snarled bitterly. “But whatever he thought, whatever my _instincts_ make me do I’ll kill anything of his before I let it grow inside me and change me into something I’m not.” He was seething. He was suffocating. His body was near shaking with the need to escape. Escape everything and run – _fly._ Oh, how he missed his broom…

 

“The instincts make you do nothing, young one. The decisions you make when they come to the forefront of your mind are still your own. They are still your human heart’s decisions, just without the influence of jaded, human misconceptions and prejudices.”

 

Harry gave a hollow laugh. “I’ve heard that, I _know_ that. It just makes me all the more infuriated with this whole situation!”

 

The woman raised a silvery brow. “Infuriated because this is a sparkling opportunity to take what you have always dreamed of – always wanted, _needed_ but your human misgivings say you shouldn’t find it here? Not with someone like Fenrir Greyback? Is that just because it is him, because of what he did or perhaps because you do not feel you deserve it?”

 

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “You’re either stark raving mad, or just not listening. I don’t _want_ to be here and I’m sick of being forced to do things I don’t want to. I won’t sit tight and wait for the return of an arsehole that wants to use me and control me. He’s fucked up my life enough already.”

 

With that he stormed forwards. But the woman did not move. He paused, closing his eyes to rein in his temper. He needed to get out! “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured under his breath, which was coming out in sharp, short pants now. “But I _am_ going to leave and I _will_ get past you. Please move aside.”

 

The woman still did not move. “It is dangerous for you to leave the safety of the village while the full moon reigns, boy,” she warned him. “Fenrir and his pack helped us to set up a parameter to keep all unwanted visitors out of the village. Other wolves and magical beasts included. The protections are superior to that of even charms such as the _Fidelius,_ but if you leave here tonight you will stumble across one of those rogue wolves for certain!” She gripped his shoulders tightly. “You will be raped or killed or worse, boy! I cannot allow you to go out there!”

 

Harry shoved her aside, regret tingeing his mind as he pushed past her and made a beeline for the front door. “Raped by Greyback, raped by one of them – there’s no difference. I’m not going to be a werewolf’s bitch. Even if I didn’t have a job to do, I still wouldn’t stay!” He heard her calling after him, heard her running across the wooden floor, swiping at the air in desperate attempts to catch hold of him but he was faster now. Faster than before and definitely faster than her (even if she was quick for an old woman). He threw open the door and bolted out into the night.

 

The second the moonlight touched his face, every inch of exposed flesh, he felt heat spread through him. His heart was thudding wildly, his blood thick with adrenaline and he did not stop. He flew through the village, ignoring the cries of the woman and anyone else that he bypassed. All of them tried in vain to grab him, to stop him but he was far too quick.

 

He could feel the wolf in him surging. He was faster, stronger, his sight was keener and he could see every blade of grass illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. A thrill of freedom rushed through him as he ran and he grinned despite himself at the exhilaration of it. The border of the village was in sight, the last building and a small stone well marking the boundary. It was feet away now. He was closer. _Closer_.

 

He was free. He’d bolted clean out of their range, into the forest and didn’t need to glance back to know they had followed no further. He was free!

 

The darkness of the trees was nothing to his eyes. He did not so much as trip as he flew over upturned roots and weaved between the trees. The clean air was rushing into his lungs like new life and without realising, a cry of animalistic thrill sailed through his lips as he skidded to a halt. He flopped back into the grass, staring up at the canopy of the trees. The moon shone down at him through the gaps, bathing his body in its near unbearable heat.

 

Slowly, as the immediate burst of adrenaline and thrill that had rocketed through him began to ebb away, he wondered what was the best way to get out of here. Could he apparate without a wand? He was still panting as he stared up at the flickers of sky he could see through the trees. The moonlight felt warmer than the sun on his skin.

 

He’d learnt that werewolves had magic of their own that they didn’t need a wand to channel. But he doubted a few days was enough experience to allow him to rely on that. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try. He needed to get out of here, get back to Ron and Hermione – he needed to find the rest of those horcruxes and then kill Voldemort!

 

_I’ll worry about everything else later,_ he thought as he clambered to his feet, determination filling the void that the ebbing excitement left behind. He had felt a jolt of bliss at the touch of the wind and moon on his face, a pleasure that he’d never known before the werewolf in him had awoken. It had been startling and now he tried to shove it far from his mind as he closed his eyes.

 

Fixing his mind on the image of The Burrow he held close to his heart, he concentrated on it hard with all his might, then whirled on the spot. Nothing happened. Again he tried and then again focussing on different places, Grimmauld Place’s doorstep, Hogsmeade Station, even _Privet Drive_. That last attempt left him so dizzy that he staggered backwards into a tree. It wouldn’t work.

e was s

 

Panic flickered at the edges of his mind as that trapped, claustrophobic feeling started to flow back to him again. How was he supposed to get out of here? Out of instinct rather than thought, he took a cursory sniff of the air and the scent of others out there in the distance carried on the slight breeze into his nose. He wasn’t alone out here, but then he’d known that. He’d just have to get past them without magic. He had no idea where he was and had no wand to assist him, but if he could find another town or even retrack the path he and Fenrir had taken back to that farmhouse…

 

Suddenly, a piercing howl tore through the night that chilled Harry to the bone. He swallowed hard. Whether that was Greyback or not, he didn’t want to stick around to find out. He scanned the forest for a moment, trying to find his bearings and decipher a route to take. But there was no path to follow.

 

Another howl swam through the dark night – nearer than before, Harry thought and the notion sent him bolting into the trees in a random direction. He moved as swiftly and quietly as he could, trying to keep his breath even and low. But the heat was still roiling in his belly, the static still licking at his loins and they both reminded him that at this time of the month, they wouldn’t need to hear him to find him.

 

_They can smell me!_ He thought with horror. He flew off to his left, knowing that the stream he’d woken to earlier flowed through here. Sure enough, he caught the faintest glimmer of moonlight dancing across the surface of water and manoeuvred through the trees to see a branch of the river. He leapt into it quickly, drenching himself to the skin, before plucking a fist full of the sweet-smelling flowers the colour of moonlight from the edge of the bank.

 

They didn’t smell overly pungent, but enough that it might help to confuse his scent if not hide it completely. He rubbed the petals over himself, his throat, under his arms and against his crotch with a flush, the places he (somehow) knew his scent would radiate from most strongly. A scent that any unmated wolf would not be able to resist tonight.

 

Back onto the bank he leapt then, but before he could dive back into the trees he stopped. Still as stone, he scanned the dark line of the trees. He swore he had seen a flicker of movement there just now to his right, but the wind was not coming from that direction so he could smell nothing. His heart was hammering in his chest again with fear now as opposed to adrenaline.

 

The forest was full of things he’d much rather didn’t find him, but nothing worse than what lurked in the Forbidden Forest, of that he was sure. And he had been in _there_ countless times. _No time to think,_ he reminded himself sharply, before taking off in the opposite direction to the _hopefully_ imagined shadow lurking behind the nearest trees.

 

Hopelessness began to war with determination in his gut. He was heading towards the village again now with the intent to follow the edge of the forest round. It was a longer route than straight through but he was less likely to get lost and more likely to find civilisation on the forest border. The kind of civilisation he _wanted_ to find at least.

 

Once beyond the border he allowed his footsteps to slow a little, the possibility of a chase less daunting now that he was out in open air with the moon breathing softly down on him. He wasn’t as afraid as he had been with her watching. Though he had a nasty suspicion that was because his instincts bloomed under her light when she was in full. His instincts were more than eager for one of the wolves he _felt_ out there to catch him.

 

As he walked across the deserted moorlands beyond the forest, a slight breeze whisked over him. An eerie mist lingered across them that shone silver with the moonlight but Harry set his jaw and walked through it. His wet clothes clung to him, turning cold in the night air and making him shiver.

 

After being burning hot all day he was now shuddering with the cold. His body was beginning to ache as well as tremble with the static sensation rushing through him. But he had to keep going, he was not just going to lay down and die, or worse, wait for one of the wolves still howling in the distance to come find him. He would not give up, not while he still had breath in his lungs, the idea was abhorrent to him.

 

Suddenly, a deep, ominous howl sounded just to the side – far too close for comfort. The mist had swirled now so that he could see nothing around him at all. Nothing but a greyish haze interspersed with moonlight and glimpses of grass underfoot. The howl sounded again, closer now and Harry _felt_ his heart hammering in his throat. Instinctively he reached for a wand that was not there and the panic inside him swelled to explosive levels. He was gasping for air as his lungs constricted in terror and then he saw it. A large wolf, easily bigger than a bear emerged from the mist, with dark auburn fur that glistened ominously in the moonlight and dark eyes that riveted to Harry with foreboding intensity.

 

Harry took a step back and the beast’s muzzle wrinkled, his fangs exposed in a warning snarl. Harry froze again. If he ran, the thing would catch him with ease. He didn’t know what to do. What were you supposed to do when confronted with an animal like this? He strained his memory in an attempt to recall any snippet of information from those survival programmes Dudley used to watch, before realising that this was entirely different. This wasn’t an animal, it was a werewolf and it wanted to fuck him or kill him – perhaps both!

 

Greyback had said his instincts had not yet matured enough to fully take him over under the moon like most werewolves. Most new wolves were bitten or awoken just after a full moon, he’d said, as it gave their instincts time to take root. Only now did Harry fully realise what that meant. Without a deeper connection to his instincts, he had no idea how to survive among them.

 

_Bloody hell._

 

Shaking still from the cold and something else now, he took a step back again and this time when the wolf snarled it edged towards him, like a beast stalking its prey. Harry felt like prey. Felt like a scared rabbit caught in headlights, the haunting hum of that old rhyme rumbled in husky, dark tones in his head as he swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

 

_Run rabbit – run rabbit – Run! Run! Run!_

His heart was frantic now and the moon wailed silently above. Saliva dripped from a long, perilously sharp white canine in that gaping maw as the beast growled, still slowly approaching. Harry was moving slowly too, never taking his eyes off the creature, moving backwards and sideways so that between them he and the beast were dancing a slow, sideways death march in a perfect circle.

 

It was as if the beast itself were breathing the words now. _Run rabbit – run rabbit…_

Harry struggled to search himself for the way to act, the way to move but the only thing he could think of was never to look them in the eyes. But did he _want_ the thing to see him as submissive? If he did, surely he would leap in for the attack? But if he didn’t, would the beast not attack anyway for the insult of looking in his eyes? Be raped and possibly die or just be torn to pieces outright – he had the tiger by the tail here, the bull by the horns and neither options were in the least appealing.

 

Suddenly the brute stopped and grumbled deep in his throat, his paws pressing hard into the dewy ground. Harry’s heart and breath stopped. This was it, one way or another and at the last second he set his jaw and did not lower his eyes.

_Run! Run! Run!_

_I covered Greyback’s scent as well as my own with the flowers,_ he realised with horror. As far as any wolf out here was concerned, he was fair game. His words from earlier came back to haunt him along with that sinister song.

 

_“Raped by Greyback, raped by one of them – there’s no difference.”_

Except there was, wasn’t there? He had seen Greyback as a wolf desperate to pin him down last night and although he had been terrified, it hadn’t been like this. It was hard to believe that even under the full moon Greyback could be like this. Harry took a final step back. This wasn’t Greyback and he had no idea how to submit as these moon-blinded wolves would expect. He was done for.

 

The beast leapt.

 

Four sharp streaks of blistering, white-hot agony ripped across his face and he screamed.

 

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_ The last verse of the sinister rhyme ripped through his mind as blood burst from the gouges those claws spawned. His hands grasped his cheek at the blinding agony. But another, more powerful growl tore through the air and as he opened his eyes, he saw a streak of silver _slam_ into the other beast. Both of them tumbled across the grass, snapping and snarling at each other.

 

Harry leapt back so quickly in shock that he stumbled and landed flat on his arse. He shimmied backwards, eyes fixed on the creatures locked together, all claws and gnashing teeth, snarls and gasping whines of pain as they bit into each other. Blood flew, staining the moon-streaked grass and when Harry saw the silver wolf slam into the darker one, sending him sprawling across the ground, he noticed the odd angle that one of the dark one’s paws stood at. This was Canagan, one of the twins! The one whose wrist Greyback had broken earlier!

 

No sooner had he thought this than the auburn creature staggered to its feet, rounding on him. Ignoring the silver wolf, it flew at him with its jaws wide. The silver bounded forwards, head bowed and crashed into Canagan’s ribs, sending him scrambling aside. This time, the silver wolf, stockier and larger than Canagan stood directly over Harry, his four paws biting into the ground, the hot fur of his underbelly _just_ brushing Harry’s head. He was _huge_!

 

The newcomer held his ground, his head lowering and muzzle vibrating with a cautionary growl. A few feet away, with his body almost swallowed by the mist, Canagan mimicked the threatening stance, edging forwards, apparently undaunted by the prospect of a fight. _Over me,_ Harry thought with horror. _They’re fighting to see who gets me!_

_Mating rights,_ a voice whispered at the back of his mind.

 

Suddenly the beasts leapt at each other again, colliding brutally in the air. The silver wolf sank his fangs into the other’s throat, shaking Canagan like a ragdoll. Canagan squirmed, howled in pain and writhed like a decapitated serpent in the other’s grasp, swiping and struggling for freedom. The silver wolf bore down on his throat harder until a sickening _crack_ filled the battlefield.

 

Harry choked back vomit as Canagan flopped to the ground, spluttering and choking. The other wolf released his neck and Canagan’s head smacked into the bloody grass at an odd angle from his body, his eyes wide, blood and cartilage oozing from his torn gullet. The silver wolf stood over its victim triumphantly, studying the piteous creature he had beaten without doubt. With blood staining his muzzle, he turned back to Harry, his wolfish amber eyes flecked with unmistakeable icy blue.

 

_Greyback,_ Harry thought, realising now who his _‘saviour’_ was. Those eyes and that fur, he recognised it now, although he was unsure if he should be rejoicing at his arrival or not. The wolf did not move, merely stared at Harry, almost expectantly, with crimson fluids still leaking from his muzzle. But Harry still had no idea what to do.

 

Slowly, he rolled up off his arse and onto his knees, watching Greyback cautiously. As soon as Harry was upright, however, the wolf growled softly, warningly, drawing himself up to full height. He was displaying his strength, awaiting praise for his victory, but he was also warning Harry to stay still. Harry froze. He didn’t know how to move like a werewolf. He could be challenging Greyback just by _blinking_ the wrong way for all he knew.

 

With fear ripe in his veins, he recalled with sudden crystal clarity Greyback’s advice. It seemed months ago rather than a day…

 

_“My wolf will know you, as I said, thanks to my mark and my scent on you, but it will react…_ differently _, on instinct rather than with my conscious thought… Don’t challenge me. You must submit, always. A loss of your pride tomorrow night will preserve your life for the day after…_ _If in doubt just lay down and turn your head to the side and expose your throat.”_

Drawing in a breath, Harry forgot his pride and all else with the desire to survive. Hiding his as well as _Greyback’s_ scent on him had only endangered him more, he realised. He swallowed hard and averted his gaze, shrugging off his shirt and setting it carefully aside. Every action was slow, cautious but at last he was shirtless and he hoped that some of the smell of sex that Greyback had left on him still lingered under the scent of the flowers.

 

Harry cringed. He’d _never_ thought that he’d want _that_ , not in a million years.

 

When Greyback still didn’t move, did not abandon his threatening stance Harry rolled slowly onto his back. Turning his head to the side in the way he knew to do, he exposed his throat and kept his eyes fixed on the grass, chest rising and falling rapidly. His face hurt, was burning as if on fire and he couldn’t help the low sound of pain that left his lips as the cool evening air bit into the broken skin like acid.

 

He heard movement first, which sent his heart hammering faster than ever before. Struggling to remain still, he bit his lip hard and tried not to run out of pure instinct as a shadow fell over him. The wolf stood over him now, seeming even more huge than before, terrifying but impressive all the more because of it. Harry quickly snapped his eyes forward again, realising he’d caught the wolf’s eyes. He understood what Greyback had meant now when he’d said Harry wasn’t ready to be with him like this, Harry had no idea what to do! One wrong move and Greyback could do him serious damage, kill him without intending to…

 

Suddenly, Greyback lowered his head, his tail high in the air. That hot breath made the welts on Harry’s face burn even more intensely and the agony rise until he could not help it. He cried out in pain, and turned on his hands and knees to wriggle out from under the wolf’s tongue without so much as a second thought.

 

A bone-shuddering, feral snarl raced up his spine. Before Harry could turn to face the beast, a large paw swiped at his side, sending him skidding across the dirt and onto his back once more. It knocked the wind from him and though it had been a clawless blow, he was sure it would bruise nastily by morning.

 

The wolf pounced again, rougher than before, Harry’s uncooperativeness evidently infuriating him. Greyback lowered his head, bringing his bloody muzzle perilously close to Harry’s face while his heavy, sweltering body towered over him. This time, Harry remained still and a long, wet tongue lapped at the bloody, angry gashes on his cheek in reward. Harry winced, the saliva stinging the wounds so badly that he grunted in pain again, gritting his teeth in the effort not to flinch away.

 

That muzzle nuzzled his abused skin surprisingly softly. The pressure on the claw-marks still made Harry’s eyes water, but as Greyback lifted his head subtly, Harry tentatively raised his fingers until he could run them over his own face. The wounds were gone. That stinging pain the tongue brought was gone and he realised now, where he had felt this pain before he’d met Greyback. Murtlap essence and every other human and muggle salve in existence. The saliva that had graced his wounds had _healed_ him.

 

“Why are you helping me? Just to keep your good lay?” Harry murmured bitterly. That previously gentle muzzle pulled back, showing dangerous fangs looming menacingly above his face. He winced, turning his head to the side again. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, but that weight pressed on him harder, claws beginning to dig into his flesh. The pressure, the fear shaking his quivering body pushed an inhuman whine from his lips and Fenrir stopped abruptly.

 

Harry’s eyes widened as his breath raced frantically from his lungs. The wolf had stopped, but hadn’t moved off of him. Risking a lick of his suddenly dry lips, Harry whined again, louder this time, closing his eyes and arching his belly up into the heated fur. Greyback retreated.

 

Harry understood now. This wolf was the embodiment of all Greyback’s base instincts; he saw things like the wolf, not the man. He wanted submission, the typical bitch for his raging wolf-desires, heightened by the full moon above. Harry lay still after that, allowing the slow passes of that tongue across his skin, the persistent press of that muzzle at the side of his throat, under his armpits and at his chest, wherever the scent of sweat, sex and Greyback lingered.

 

It seemed like an age since this odd, fragile calm had fallen. Harry's body became oddly relaxed under the wolf’s ministrations, until the cold ground became the main cause of the shivers instead of the beast above him. He was still afraid, how could he not be? But he was most definitely less so than before.

 

Suddenly, hot breath disturbed his damp hair and Harry opened his eyes to meet the heated amber gaze now fixed on his face. He whined again to counter-act the fact that he had allowed their eyes to meet.

 

_“But **do not** challenge me. You must submit, always…”_ Why had Greyback’s rough voice become a source of _help_ in this? It was like a mantra that he was certain would see him through until dawn. He swallowed again, disliking the feeling bubbling inside him. He hated the bastard, but he knew that he would protect him in spite of that.

 

_“Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you.”_ The words echoed in his head and he whined again for good measure. A low, deep-throated grumble brushed against his flesh, an almost _purring_ sound and he blushed furiously as he felt that hard, heavy limb between the creature’s legs press into his stomach. Harry gasped, tone shamefully high and the beast purred in his ear, its mighty paw nudging his side none-too-gently. Harry knew what he wanted.

 

Feeling nausea ripple in his belly, Harry moved without thinking, his palms pushing at the wolf’s chest. He paused as soon as he realised what he was doing and stared up at the wolf, careful not to meet his eyes. The amber orbs flecked with brightest blue were watching him carefully.

 

That silver fur was paler at Greyback’s chest and underbelly, warm, soft and fine under Harry’s hands. He couldn’t help himself, he sifted his fingers through the fur, caressing it with awe and veneration. He was sure Greyback could sense this somehow for he calmed slightly under Harry’s hands, his tail limp and relaxed against his hind legs, ears pricked with interest.

 

Slowly, Harry slid up onto his knees in front of Greyback and smoothed his palms through that thick silvery mane which glistened in the moonlight. Calming pheromones rippled through Harry’s being at this touch and he leant in more when the wolf lowered his head to permit it, feeling that fur brush slightly against his chest.

A cold nose pressed into the marked side of Harry’s throat. Harry paused for a moment, but Greyback only snuffled there interestedly, licking occasionally. From somewhere within, Harry could _feel_ Greyback was relaxed – far too relaxed to harm or even fuck him. That notion inspired such profound relief to blossom in his belly that without thinking, Harry made a soft growl of contentment and pressed his cheek into the warm fur of Greyback’s massive chest.

 

He could hear a supernatural beast’s heart beating in there; feel his breath move his chest gently. Was this his instincts blooming as Greyback had said they would? He was becoming more and more attuned to what the body language of this wolf meant – more aware of the pheromones filling him up as he breathed the alpha’s scent in. It was calming him because Greyback wanted him to be calm. Harry didn’t think he liked that, but the notion that it inspired was certainly interesting.

 

Even Greyback’s moon-blinded werewolf form didn’t want him to be afraid. That was why instead of holding him down and mating with him (as he’d evidently wanted a moment ago) Greyback was producing the scents to try and calm him.

 

The shiny red erection had vanished now. The scent of Harry’s fear and pain had evidently overwhelmed the scent of Harry’s heat and the need to mate with him. That was interesting too. _“With the oath to shield, shelter and protect. With an oath to honour and fight for my mate until my last breath leaves me…”_ Greyback had sworn to protect and shelter him among other things. _“And I don’t break my promises, pet,”_ he’d said earlier. Harry could not help but believe it. It seemed that Greyback _would_ protect him, even from fear – fear of himself, Fenrir Greyback.

 

It was a reassuring thought, though it wouldn’t put a stop to Harry's escape plans. He wasn’t going to roll over and play the good puppy for anyone. His escape would just have to wait until he wasn’t about to be torn apart in the process. He’d had plenty of practice during all those summers at the Dursleys, waiting to be liberated and taken to The Burrow or Hogwarts. He could be patient now until his moment came.

 

Leaning back then, Harry looked up at Greyback. Taking a leap of faith and testing his limits with this beast controlled only by instincts, he slid to his feet slowly, reaching up to caress those large furry ears.

 

Greyback wagged his tail slowly and Harry instinctually emitted another soft yip of happiness. This felt good for some reason. “I think I like you better like this,” he mused aloud, petting the wolf’s head and ears like a dog. A bloody huge one at that. If Harry stood, he would still only come up to the wolf’s neck. His body was powerful but beautiful too and Harry felt a pang for Remus, wherever he was. His werewolf was a twisted, hideous mix of man and wolf, nothing like Greyback’s wolf form. Would Remus be this stunning if he could find peace with the beast inside him like Greyback had? The monster on the outside reflected the bitter sadness within, Harry thought sorrowfully.

 

Just then, a wet tongue swept up the side of his face, jerking him from his reverie and Harry jumped, glancing to the wolf, who butted the side of his head with his massive nose. “You don’t like the smell of me upset either?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He rubbed the wolf’s ear a final time before deciding to try his luck even further.

 

Harry took a few steps before realising the wolf wasn’t going to bite him for doing so, not now at least and pulled his shirt back on. He shivered with the cold. His clothes, hair and skin were still damp from the river and the night was turning colder as it drew on. He wished he had grabbed his fur cloak before he’d dashed out of the old woman’s house…

 

Ambling over to the nearest tree, Harry lay down against the broad trunk, hoping to use the forest as a windbreak. He closed his eyes. The moon felt nice on his skin still, a calming, slight heat on this cold, perilous night. A moment later, he felt a heavy body slump down beside him and he opened his eyes to see Greyback laying againsthim, pressing into him and then looking at him expectantly.

 

At this Harry paused. He wasn’t sure he wanted to comply here. Greyback and this wolf were the same, no matter how calming one was and how infuriating the other might be. “If I lie down with you it’ll be like cuddling you!” Harry said, a flush touching his cheeks at the thought. “Whatever happened last night I’m not your _lover_ or anything. I’m not yours. And I _will_ escape you. I don’t want to be with you.” He shivered again, edging slightly away from the werewolf.

 

The wolf didn’t seem to understand and nudged him again, an impatient growl rumbling through that bloodstained muzzle. Harry sighed. He didn’t want to, he wanted nothing less but the calming aura that was radiating from the wolf right now made him feel strange. Not _compliant_ as such, more like he didn’t care so much what the werewolf might think when he awoke. He just wanted comfort, comfort he hadn’t had in a long time. Or ever, if he truly thought about it, not like this anyway.

 

“Just for five minutes,” Harry told the wolf, despite knowing he wouldn’t understand. He shifted awkwardly until he was resting against the wolf’s warm body, nestled against his underbelly with his head just above a massive front leg. He sighed again, but in relaxation this time and allowed his eyelids to flutter closed as the moon bathed their bodies where they lay. “Why cant I feel like this with anyone else?” Harry asked Greyback, again not expecting an answer. His fingers caressed the warm, softer, fluffier fur of the beast’s belly absently. “The most comfortable, most valued I’ve felt in my life and it’s with a werewolf who changed me against my will.”

 

He was so fucked up.

 

As he felt the beast lay its head down on the ground, he wondered absently if in another world he might have _asked_ Greyback to awaken the werewolf in him. Harry was rising and falling softly with the beast’s breathing now, the sound of that breath and heartbeat lulling him perilously towards slumber. He fought against the pull as Greyback’s heat spread over him, fighting off the cold from his limbs until he was comfortably warm against his body.

 

Would he ever have welcomed this life if Greyback had actually given him a choice? If Greyback hadn’t marred Bill for life and ruined Remus’ existence? _Could I ever have accepted this?_ He wondered. _Perhaps even loved him_? He was definitely sleepy now if he was thinking of ‘might have beens’ like _that._ He yawned widely, unwittingly leaning closer into his canine pillow. If werewolf ran in his blood, he may have found peace in this life, maybe, had things been different. But as they weren’t…

 

“I will to escape you,” he murmured sleepily into Greyback’s fur. “I _have_ to…”

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	5. Waking with the Wolf

Author's Note:

Thank you so much again for everyone who is reading and also those taking the time to let me know you're enjoying - it means a lot : )

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

.: Chapter Five :.

Waking with the Wolf

 

 

 

Like the morning before, Harry woke slowly in warmth and comfort, with the familiar feeling of a cosy blanket of fur over his head. Unlike last time, however, when Harry sat up and pushed the fur cloak off his head, he was not alone. Greyback was sitting nearby, watching him. Fully clothed and human again – _thankfully_.

 

 “You reacted better to me during a full moon than I’d thought you would,” Greyback murmured, his voice full of hidden meaning. “By the next moon your instincts will have taken root and you’ll be completely prepared.” Harry glared back in answer, sitting up a little straighter. The clothes that old woman had given him yesterday were still spotless somehow. He was glad, they were much comfier than the overlarge garments Greyback had given him before.

 

 “You seemed more concerned with me being upset and afraid than fucking me,” Harry said, trying for indifference and failing. A light flush touched his cheeks. The sun wasn’t too high in the sky, meaning it was still early and most of the mist had dwindled but it was still quite chilly. He shivered and pulled the cloak round his shoulders securely, before realising he hadn’t had it last night.

 

 “You left,” he said, immediately infuriated at how _concerned_ the words had sounded.

 

 Greyback smirked. “When the sun came up I left you with adequate scent protection,” he said. “I went to the village and back as a wolf for speed. I was barely gone five minutes. I would have sensed if you were in danger, just like yesterday – the morning and the evening…”

 

 Harry frowned. “You sensed I was in trouble both times?” He received a nod in answer and felt surprised. He hadn’t known the bond between them allowed that, it made slightly more sense now. The bond existed so that they could protect each other more than invade each other’s privacy. Yet the fact that he needed Greyback to protect him at all rubbed him up the wrong way. He snorted.

 

 “You know if you gave me my wand you wouldn’t have to defend me. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself with my magic,” he griped, infuriated by the way Greyback’s smile broadened at his words.

 

 “After a little while those with the recessive gene can do magic without a wand. They draw their power from the earth and sky, the moon herself, like werewolves do,” Greyback explained. “And I never took your wand, the Dark Lord still has it.”

 

 Harry nodded. In truth his own wand (that had been broken by Hermione’s spell back in Godric’s Hollow) was still perfectly safe along with the rest of his precious possessions. Still sitting in Hermione’s beaded bag. The wand taken from him had been the blackthorn one Ron had given him after stealing it from a snatcher. Somehow, the thought that the wand wasn’t his own in the first place, the knowledge that his own wand was safe (albeit still broken) made him feel a little better. It would’ve broken his heart to think his photo album, his cloak and all of his precious heirlooms from his parents and Sirius were gone.

 

 Greyback’s loud sniffing of the air snapped him from his melancholy thoughts. “Don’t do that,” the wolf growled warningly, getting to his feet.

 

 Harry stared. “Do what?”

 

 “Don’t…don’t foul the air with your misery, it’s very…” He grit his teeth. “I can feel it and it pisses me off.”

 

 Harry blinked at him a moment before pulling the cloak around him so thoroughly that only his head was visible. Greyback could sense his upset and disliked it, because of the bond they shared or because it genuinely made him feel bad? Why did he even care? He was so confused. He’d heard of things like this and wished he had someone clever like Hermione to tell him what was going on inside him.

_Stockholm Syndrome,_ was that was it was? As simple as a prisoner generating feelings for his captor in search of even the smallest comfort? That didn’t feel quite right.

 

 Suddenly Greyback was directly in front of him, staring down at him. “I said _stop_ doing that,” he growled.

 

 Harry glared. “You can’t control me or how I bloody feel. I don’t belong with you!”

 

 “You do belong with me! You can’t deny how _right_ last night felt for you, _I_ felt it emanating from you. You’ve never been so content in your life!” Greyback snarled. “And I’m not trying to control you. I could if I wanted to but I’m not. All I’m trying to do is stop you from making me feel like shit when I’ve done everything in my power to take care of you! I’m an alpha, I don’t coddle or indulge others, but I have with you _._ I’ve done everything for you!”

 

 “Except let me go!” Harry roared, leaping to his feet, his jaw set. He barely came up to Greyback’s armpit but he glared at him with vengeance all the same. “Your actions have ruined my life–”

 

 “I claimed you to save you–”

 

 “You claimed me to fuck me and get your own little werewolf brood out of me!” Harry protested. “You don’t give two flying fucks about me as a man!”

 

 Greyback seized him then by the scruff of his neck, drawing him up so close to his face that Harry had to rise onto his toes to remain touching the ground at all. “If that were true I wouldn’t care if you were upset or afraid–”

 

 “The _wolf_ cares, not you,” Harry began. But Greyback cut across him with a frustrated bellow.

 

 “The wolf and me are the same!” His grip on Harry’s shirt tightened and Harry saw rage. “Just as the wolf in you and the man you are now one!” Greyback growled out in infuriated frustration then, releasing Harry and spinning on his heel, visibly seething, struggling to control his temper.

 

 “Why must you fight any comfort or good feeling?” he demanded without turning to face him again, as if the sight of him would make him flip. “Does there need to be a bloody rhyme or reason to everything?! I don’t want you to be afraid or miserable. I wouldn’t want to let you go even if doing so _wouldn’t_ mean the Dark Lord would kill you. I don’t know the sodding reason, I don’t. I just give a shit whether you live or die, alright?”

 

 Silence fell and Harry could do nothing but stare at the creature before him. He had the feeling that he had become important to Fenrir Greyback over the last few days, precious even. A large part of that seemed to be to do with what he could do for him, but if there was one thing he could sympathise with in this alleged murderer, it was the need for a family of his own.

 

  _I don’t want one with him and I certainly don’t want to be the one to…to give birth to anything,_ Harry thought. _But one day I want to have a family with someone I care about,_ deeply _; I want that more than anything…_

He considered the werewolf cautiously, again finding himself wondering if another time, another place he might have chosen this path for himself some day. He supposed he’d never know.

 

 “Look,” he began after the silence between them had long fallen stagnant. “I trust that you don’t want anything to happen to me, I can hardly not after the last few days and I appreciate you saving my arse twice yesterday – _literally,_ most likely. But I don’t belong with you, Greyback.” At that the werewolf whirled around, his mouth open, on the verge of speech, but Harry got there first.

 

 “I don’t belong here because I have a job to do.” He paused there, wondering how much he could trust Greyback with. He knew his own mind was safe now; Greyback’s connection to him meant that Voldemort could not venture into his mind as he once did. He had a suspicion that the reason the bond held Voldemort out was to do with emotions, the sincere kind that he found so abhorrent.

 

 “I need to stop Voldemort before I can even _think_ about a life of my own,” he said at last deciding that the truth was the only hope in hell he had of convincing Greyback to let him go. “People I love and hundreds of thousands of more people besides will suffer and die if I don’t. And I know you don’t give a shit about anyone but yours and your own but do you really think Voldemort will leave _any_ potential threat to him unconquered?” He looked at Greyback imploringly now.

 

 “Once the muggles and half-bloods are under control he’ll go after the other races that might oppose him, werewolves, vampires, giants – all of you until he’s conquered you all! I’ve been inside his sick mind, I know him. He won’t rest until he’s invincible!”

 

 Suddenly Greyback’s huge hands were on his shoulders, gripping them tightly and his bright blue eyes were locked on his face. “This is exactly it, pet. When you accepted me under the moon you passed all of those burdens onto me. The sub doesn’t fight or concern himself with such things. I will protect you from the Dark Lord, just like I did with those wolves yesterday – from everyone and _anyone_. You’re safe now. No one will hurt you and you never have to worry about hunger or suffering again. As long as I have breath in me, anything you were worried about before is redundant, got it?” His voice was rough as ever, but there was a husky yearning behind it all, desperation for Harry to understand.

 

 “Under the full moon last night and before, during the mating ritual, you felt carefree and safe because that’s what you’re _meant_ to be now.”

 

 Harry tried to step back but those hands held him fast. “And what about my friends? The people I love? I won’t abandon them to play your bitch,” Harry retorted hotly. “Look, if there was a way I could _buy_ your brute strength with my wretched body I would. But it doesn’t work like that; you _can’t_ protect me from Voldemort. I’m the only one that can kill him!”

 

 Greyback’s grip was almost painful on his shoulders now. “Your instincts think I can protect you,” he murmured coarsely, “or else they’d never have chosen me as your mate. I can protect you, pet, and I will. The Dark Lord can’t afford to piss me off and risk losing every werewolf in Britain to the light side. Why do you think he gave you to me without much fuss? He walks a thin line with me. My race are his secret weapon in this war and he knows it.”

 

 Greyback released him then, surveying Harry from head to toe as he so often did, before leaning in. Harry’s body went rigid, but with embarrassment as opposed to fear and his cheeks coloured when he felt the werewolf’s hot breath on the marked side of his neck. He shuddered and not from the cold this time when those lips _just_ skimmed the sensitive, scarred flesh there. He gasped.

 

 “Don’t ever talk about buying favours with your body again either, pet. If you want something from me, ask for it,” Greyback breathed huskily against him. An instinctive, uncontrollable whine of bliss left Harry before he could stop it and his hands flew up to cover his mouth. Greyback growled heatedly in his throat, seizing each of Harry’s wrists in his hands and pinning them fast to Harry’s sides.

 

 “Don’t ever silence yourself either. The sounds you make are natural, for me only. Even you can’t fight your instincts, can’t deny that you want me.” Greyback punctuated his words by nuzzling up just behind Harry’s ear, his stubbly chin teasing the appendage until Harry felt it grow as hot as his cheeks.

 

 “I don’t want to buy your body, I don’t need to when it’s willingly mine anyway,” the wolf all-but panted into the shell of his ear and Harry’s eyes slammed shut in reaction, his body ramrod stiff in Greyback’s grasp. “I will however, help your precious friends if you do something for me.”

 

 Harry’s eyes flew open suddenly in shock. Greyback chuckled, sensing the surprise in him without seeing his face and that stubbly mouth tickled its way across his earlobe, where it suckled roughly. An animalistic groaning whimper shot from Harry’s lips, followed by a very human moan.

 

 “W-What do you mean help?” Harry demanded, trying to sound feisty but failing as arousal tinted every syllable. Greyback’s mouth was against the side of his jaw now, those fangs grazing the flesh all the way down to his chin.

 

 “I mean I will send word of your safety to them. I mean I will send my most trusted and powerful to aid them in whatever quest they were on with you when you got caught,” Greyback said gruffly but simply, as if it had been obvious before his elaboration. One hand released one of Harry’s wrists then and reached around, brazenly massaging his swollen erection through the fabric of his trousers.

 

 Harry rolled up onto his toes to follow the movement, his heart pounding, breath gushing from him like a freight train. He groaned again, his one free hand flying up and seizing a fistful of the silver hair that hung over Greyback’s shoulder. Whether it was to pull him close or push him away he didn’t know anymore.

 

 “This is hard for me even without any influence of the moon, pet,” Greyback purred against his chin, which had tipped back now in ecstasy. He rubbed Harry’s cock again through the cloth to make sure Harry knew exactly _what_ he was referring to. He rolled his hot palm over the heated flesh, feeling every contour of Harry’s needy organ and pressed the tip of a finger just under the head (where Harry liked it best) for good measure.

 

 “What do you want?!” Harry gasped, desperate to escape the pleasure and for it to never end all at once. He felt Greyback chuckle against his chin and when he opened his eyes, he found their faces but a hairsbreadth apart and Greyback’s mouth dangerously close to his own. As if they were about to kiss. _Oh shit!_ His face was burning now – his entire body was on fire!

 

 “Say my name, pet,” Greyback demanded breathily, his words dancing across Harry’s slightly parted lips.

 

 Harry felt his mind fog. It was surely not right to be so affected by this beast. _He’s everything you want and need,_ a voice whispered at the back of his mind and he closed his eyes, trying to hide the thought from Greyback’s gaze. “This won’t stop me from trying to escape you,” Harry breathed heavily, “I’m not going to be your litter bitch.”

 

 Greyback growled, tugging Harry's hair roughly. “Do you want my help or not, pet?” he asked gruffly.

 

 Harry groaned at the tingling heat that shot down his spine from the tight grip on the roots of his hair. Their bond was ringing from honesty on Greyback’s end; he meant what he was offering with no trickery and Harry felt so overwhelmingly confused by that and the heat coursing through him that he swore his head would explode.

 

  _And he’s doing this purely to please me,_ he realised absently. _He’s still courting you,_ his instincts whispered quietly through the fog of arousal and confusion, _still trying to win your approval, to prove himself a good mate._

 

 He could feel Greyback’s stubble against his smooth skin now. His breath hitched and he struggled to find his voice for Hermione, Ron and the others, for the sake of the mission Dumbledore had left them with. _And if Greyback sends his minions, they are sure to try and get me out of here, aren’t they?_

 

 “G-Grey–”

 

 The fingers in his hair tugged harder and the other hand slid down, grasping his arse and pulling him _hard_ against Greyback’s body. His burgeoning arousal was pressed unyieldingly against Greyback’s strong thigh. He let out a feral whine.

 

 “My given name, pet,” Greyback corrected him. “I want to hear it on your dainty little lips.”

 

 Harry wanted to scowl, but the pressure on his cock and the desperation to escape all of this (and yet never let go at the same time) built inside until he felt suffocated in his own body. “Fenrir,” he gasped. Greyback snarled in answer, a sound that vibrated through Harry's body. The werewolf threw him down on the grass roughly and was on him again, pinning him between the cool grass and his hard body.

 

 Harry's fingers dove into Greyback’s biceps, digging in and gripping hard with his nails as the wolf seized his legs under the knee and opened him so that their cloth-covered erections could grind together unhindered. “That’s it boy,” Greyback growled, moving his large body in hard, frantic gyrations. “Hold onto me while I fuck you silly.”

 

 Harry did and (to his shame) gladly. It felt just too good to his body, so starved of such affection and his insides coiled up in anticipation of the pleasure this man had given him before. The instincts inside him wanted to whine and growl in desperation. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip to stifle the sounds, but could not help but toss his head to the side.

 

 Greyback lunged for his throat in seconds, his stubbly kisses rough and possessive on his neck and collarbone. They were moving together now in harsh, haphazard grinding motions. Harry felt the hand that wasn’t knotted in his hair reach between them, tugging Harry's shirt up and his trousers down. Cold air licked over Harry's belly and his leaking cock. He hissed at the deliciousness of it all.

 

 The wolf must have tugged his own trousers down as well because the next Harry knew a hot, solid column of flesh was pressed to his. They were skin on skin now, their thrusts slicked with their own pre-emission. Greyback’s snarling gasps of animal passion were fogging up Harry's glasses they were so close. He could taste the man’s musky breath on his own slightly parted lips.

 

 He was arching back up into the immense body above him now, so big and powerful compared to his scrawny one and his fingers dug harder into Greyback’s arms as he sought his end. The heat between them was impossible, maddening. He could feel every muscle in the man above him tensing to match his own, feel his cock throbbing against Greyback’s. _So close,_ he thought, his last ounce of coherency leaving him as he threw his head back into the grass and released a loud cry.

 

 His balls tightened, arse clenched and he thrust up against Greyback’s hot hardness, spilling himself over his exposed belly. Panting and groaning in orgasmic bliss he stared up at the werewolf above him, his vision framed by a disorientating cloudy euphoria. Greyback’s appearance was startling. Lost in bliss, his expression feral and unguarded. That sleek, dark silver hair was swept back and his eyes shut tight. Harry could feel the light stubble on his jaw against his own face with their mouths so close. He was studying this man closer than he had ever looked at anyone before. He didn’t know how he felt about that.

 

 Suddenly Greyback arched above him, seizing his hips roughly and holding him against his body as he grinded into him a final time. His release splashed over Harry's already stained belly. He was panting heavily, his breath heady and his hips kept moving in echoes of his thrust as his post-orgasmic haze slowly ebbed away.

 

 Harry continued to watch him, his feelings up in the air in confusion. He had just climaxed quite willingly under Fenrir Greyback and his moon-heat had already diminished along with the full moon. _I wanted it,_ he thought with horror; _I wanted how he made me feel._ Everything felt simpler when Greyback made him feel like that, like he didn’t have to think about anything else. Like he could lay back for the first time in his life and just…

 

 An abrupt pressure against his forehead shook him from his reverie and he opened his eyes (not having realised he’d closed them) to find Greyback had butted his head against Harry's forehead and was now watching him. “You’re thinking too much, pet. You just came spectacularly with me. What do you need to worry yourself over?”

 

 Harry stared at him for a moment before sighing, closing his eyes in a display of exhaustion (when really it was to give himself an excuse to not look into those unfathomable eyes). “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he said quietly. Greyback merely scoffed in answer and pressed his nose into Harry's throat for a moment, inhaling before sliding down Harry's body.

 

 His now familiar stubbly kisses tickled Harry's sternum, still exposed thanks to his shirt being bunched under his chin. Harry pushed up on his elbows, his lips parting to protest but fell dumb at the sight of Greyback’s tongue licking their joint fluids from his belly. He gasped and Greyback’s wicked gaze met his, holding it until he’d licked Harry clean.

 

 “I understand better than you think – some things better than you it seems,” Greyback murmured gruffly against his navel, which he gave a swift lick before drawing back. He pulled his own trousers up to rest back on his hips, his upper body bare as always. Harry didn’t know whether it was because he didn’t like wearing clothes or because he liked to show of his hard, sculpted torso. He flushed slightly at the thought.

 

 “And the few things that I don’t understand, pet, you’ll have plenty of time to teach me,” the werewolf smirked, getting to his feet.

 

 Harry scowled at him, pulling his shirt down and his own trousers up. “That’s what you think,” he snapped at Greyback, pulling the fur cloak around his shoulders. For now, he would stick with the unbearable alpha that his body and instincts adored so. It was his best chance of ever seeing Ron and Hermione again and fulfilling his unwanted destiny of defeating Voldemort. The latter was in no way as appealing as the first, of course but…necessary. There was no one else for the job, after all, he reminded himself with a pang of bitterness that he quickly quashed.

 

 “You seem attached to that thing,” Greyback said then, summoning Harry's attention back to him as he gestured to the cloak still wrapped around Harry's shoulders. Harry glared at him furiously but before he could spit out a retort, Greyback had shucked off his trousers again, effectively distracting him.

 

 Harry’s eyes widened. He hastily looked away. “What the bloody hell are you playing at?!” he gushed, not wanting to get anymore familiar with Greyback’s body than he already was.

 

 Greyback chuckled wolfishly, offering the garment out to Harry. Harry saw it out of the corner of his eye and his glower intensified.

 

 “If you don’t take it then when I change back you’ll have a naked alpha you apparently despise for company,” the werewolf mused gruffly. Harry snatched the garment off him, guessing what the next step was going to be. Although it would be undoubtedly quicker (and easier on his aching body) he was not sure his pride would suffer it.

 

 “Good boy,” Greyback mock-appraised him, before he took a step back and urged his body into a voluntary change. Muscle and flesh rippled. Bone merged into a larger, altogether different shape that after last night, Harry easily recognised. He felt oddly calmer at the sight of those amber eyes flecked with blue and that beautifully glossy silver coat. Perhaps it was an instinct/hormone thing, as even the smell of the morning breeze through that fur made his anger dissipate.

 

 The alpha wolf padded towards him, brushing his furred face against Harry’s chest, nearly knocking him off his feet with his strength. Harry managed to stay upright and gripped Greyback’s mane to steady himself, surprised to feel that the fur was still soft and comforting under his hands. He thought he’d imagined it last night.

 

 “You should stay like this, you’re much easier to be with this way,” Harry muttered, receiving another forceful brush of that head against his face this time. In this form, Greyback was immense in size. Harry wondered if the rest of his ‘pack’ boasted the same bear-sized dimensions. _I’ll find out soon enough, I reckon,_ he thought as he reluctantly pulled himself onto the alpha’s back. It was only his survival instincts that enabled him to do so without more fuss.

 

 It was no more unnerving than riding Buckbeak or a thestral – he was not now several hundred feet off the ground after all. It was also fairly easy to forget that this was _Greyback_ beneath him, since the man couldn’t taunt or provoke him; the scent rising from that soft fur made him feel quite laid back.

 

 It was Greyback whose pride would suffer most anyway, since he was allowing Harry to ride on his back like some horse. Harry was in the superior position – on top. He wondered if Greyback knew that and if he did, why it didn’t bother him. Besides which, if this got him far away from the rogue wolves that would rape him quicker, he would happily forgo a slither of pride. He cast a glance back at the place where Cannagan had fallen last night. Greyback had buried the bastard under a thick layer of soil, which now stood out from the surrounding grassland. Harry frowned. He hadn’t realised that Greyback was the kind to give even an enemy a decent burial. It surprised him.

 

  _He’s not exactly what you presumed he’d be, is he?_ His instincts whispered. _It isn’t like you to judge a book by its cover._

 

 Harry frowned. _I judged him by what he did to Bill and Remus – by how he made irreversible changes to my life without my permission._

_He saved you! And as for Bill and Remus, perhaps he could justify those actions too._

 

 Harry snorted. _He might try and justify what he did to me, I might even be able to accept that on some level,_ he retorted in his own mind. _But there is no way in hell he can make excuses for what he did to Bill and Remus. There’s no forgiving that._ With that thought, Greyback leapt forwards, throwing Harry flat against his back with the sudden movement.

 

 “You did that on purpose,” Harry griped as he struggled to steady himself. He gripped Greyback’s ribs with his legs and knotted his hands in the wolf’s fur at his neck as they bolted across the moor. The breeze intensified with their speed, rushing against his face and through his hair, inciting a smile to touch his lips despite the situation. It was like flying. Greyback was bounding at warp speed across the ground – so fast his massive paws were barely touching it.

 

 Why hadn’t they done this from the start, he wondered? But then he realised. _Because he knew I’d say no before._ So what was different now?

 

  _You came with him without any outside influence and without the moon’s hold over you,_ his mind whispered. He grit his teeth and flushed darkly but could not deny it. He’d pulled Greyback to him for no other reason than wanting to feel good. _What does that make me? A man who cuddles up to someone he dislikes so eagerly?_ He winced, not liking the words that sprang to mind.

 

 Suddenly, Greyback sped up until the wind was howling in Harry’s ears, pressing against his face with unyielding force. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open and he gripped Greyback harder with his hands and legs out of instinct. Greyback had sped up to distract him from his thoughts, no doubt having sensed his melancholy, Harry realised, silently thankful, but also guilty. Did he deserve such a reprieve?

 

 Within moments they were rushing past the boundaries of the village and it was out of sight after another few. Harry turned slightly and watched it vanish from view as they flew across the moorlands. He would have to ask Greyback why those villagers were under their protection. Why had Greyback and his pack helped to set up the parameter that kept any invaders out of the village? They’d even set up a scent claim over the village to protect it. He recalled dimly the way Greyback had spoken to the old woman, as if he respected her. But Greyback loathed wizards and witches, didn’t he?

 

 The wind rushed through his hair, clearing his senses as they left the village far behind and the sun rose higher in the sky. Harry tipped his head back on his shoulders, closing his eyes and feeling the sun’s warmth on his face, embracing the strength of the wind. This was just like last night when he had run under the moon, only more exhilarating.

 

 “Wish I could run this fast,” Harry mused, without realising he had spoken his words aloud. His body was heavy with exhaustion after the last few days, the moon heat having taken its toll. The itching, aching heat and desire had long since abated but the echo of tiredness it left behind remained. He kept his eyes closed, not realising in his daze that Greyback’s pace had slowed a fraction.

 

 He didn’t realise when his body tipped slowly to lay flat, his face and torso pressed into the fur of Greyback’s neck. He did vaguely register the wolf twisting his head to swipe his tongue across Harry’s arm, which was now hanging limply at his side. Harry grumbled sleepily, drifting in a limbo between slumber and consciousness. “Can’t give in to you,” Harry mumbled, again without realising he’d spoken aloud, nearly lost to sleep, “Can’t be yours. Got to finish…got to be me…”

 

 

 Greyback pondered those words as he moved as fast as he could without dislodging or awakening the boy on his back. He was too light really for a man of his age, even if he was a little short. _Needs feeding,_ he thought, trying not to think of how that glorious young body would fill once it was carrying his offspring.

 

 The boy was so concerned with the responsibilities that he’d been lumbered with by much more powerful men. Perhaps that was why he was so obstinate and determined to not realise that he, Fenrir was the answer to everything he had never even _dared_ to hope for. _We’re meant for each other, pet, you’ll see,_ he thought, pausing at the edge of a great forest he knew all to well.

 

 The Forest of Shae. He thought fondly of the name – the same as that of the village. They were both his _‘mother’s’_ namesake. The leaves were a rich array of greens and seemed to _sparkle_ with their magic as the sun danced off them. The boughs and bark of the trees were a healthy, earthy brown and the trees themselves stood loosely together at first, growing closer together the further in he went. He wondered as he moved, just what his mother might have thought of the boy sleeping soundly on his back.

 

  _They were both as obstinate as each other,_ he thought with a grin that could not form due to the muzzle he now wore instead of his human mouth. Perhaps that was why he’d been so drawn to the boy back at Malfoy Manor, unable to let him slip through his grasp despite the trouble it was causing him now. Despite it meaning he now owed a favour to the Dark Lord. The second he had seen his strength, his stubbornness, it had been simply impossible to walk away.

 

 His mother had done great things and was not the usual sub. His mate would do great things with his power, with his pride and tenacity just as his mother had, Fenrir was sure of it. _You’d be proud,_ Fenrir thought, turning his attention back to the trees again.

 

 The den of his pack was straight on into the very depths of the forest, protected by the Mountain of Adair that stood in the distance, surrounded by the mythical trees and rolling hillocks. It was said that the magic of the trees and the mountain their home was built within, was just as good as any protective enchantments the wizards made. Especially their flawed _Fidelius charms_. No one could apparate in or out. No one could use magic to locate it and the alpha and beta of the pack knew the moment any living being entered the forest domain.

 

 Fenrir didn’t know if there was any validity to the legends he’d been told since birth, but he knew that they had never been found by any living soul within this forest and any foe that had entered the boundaries had never defeated them. His father had told him that the forest was alive, one with them. He’d said that it gave them their own natural magic that rivalled anything the wizards produced with a wand. Fenrir could not help but believe it as he stepped into the shade of the trees.

 

 The branches bent with the breeze to caress him and his precious cargo. He inclined his head and lapped at the crystal clear stream that wound between the trees and out of sight. After sating his thirst, he heard the belly of his mate grumble and cast his gaze in the direction he knew the den was in.

 

 They would be there soon and then he would have to deal with whatever had happened in his absence as well as the endless questions – both from the pack and from the boy on his back. As said boy squirmed in his sleep however, defenceless and far more endearing than he was when awake, Fenrir thought it would be worth it. And ultimately, every one of his pack knew how valuable those like his mate were, especially since so many had been lost during the time wizards had hunted them down. He growled softly, banishing the bitter memories from his mind. He swore not to dwell on that time ever again; he was needed more in the present than he was in the past, after all…

 

*                      *                      *

 Harry awoke slowly, groggy but definitely more refreshed than he had felt before. He was warm but immobile, which he knew he _hadn’t_ been when he had dozed off. _We were moving weren’t we?_ He thought, disorientated as his eyes fluttered open and he found himself squinting up at the afternoon sun peeping through a glistening canopy of leaves. It was like being in another world, some sort of paradise, he thought.

 

 “I’m still dreaming,” he murmured, voice hoarse with lack of use as his vision began to focus. He wiped the sleep from his eyes.

 

 “I didn’t know I was dream material,” a gruff voice said from the side and Harry scowled at the smirk that rode across Greyback’s lips. The wolf was a man again, thankfully dressed in the trousers Harry had held for him while he was changed. He was bent over a small fire with some sort of meat skewered over the flames. It was for him, Harry immediately realised but did not move or ask for the food, even if his stomach grumbled loudly at the sight and smell of it. Greyback’s grin broadened in answer.

 

 “You’re far too scrawny. I’ll need to ensure you get the best from each hunt so you fatten up a bit,” the alpha said, plucking the wooden skewer up and bringing it over to Harry. He held the stick out to him, his brow rising when Harry didn’t move. “I made an oath to you under the moon, pet, this is part of that oath. Eat it. They can hear your growling belly all the way back at the village.”

 

 “I don’t need your charity,” Harry snapped, snatching the skewer from Greyback all the same, holding each end with his hands. “If you gave me a wand, or at least showed me how to use this ‘werewolf’ magic I’m supposed to have then I can catch and cook my own food.”

 

 Greyback chuckled coarsely. “The ‘werewolf magic’ isn’t something you can teach. You’ll learn it when you’re more in tune with your instincts and as for a wand, we’re a long way from any wand maker, pet.” He stared at Harry a moment, considering him before adding, “besides, it’s my job as your alpha, your mate to provide for you. I’d be considered a failure by all if I didn’t provide you with enough food. Eat.” He punctuated the last word by dropping down heavily in front of Harry. Sitting rigidly, Greyback watched him with a hard stare until Harry lost the battle with his own hunger and sank his teeth into the perfectly plucked and cooked pheasant. 

 

 The taste exploded in his mouth, full and rich, as if Greyback had used some sort of spice. The meat was moist and delicious and Harry felt himself salivating as he sucked it ravenously from the stick. He was being watched but the emptiness in his stomach didn’t care. It tasted like chicken with a slight twang – he didn’t think he’d ever tasted something so delicious outside of Hogwarts.

 

 “Looks like I built you up an appetite yesterday,” Greyback chuckled roughly, watching Harry as if it provided him with infinitesimal pleasure.

 

 Harry flushed darkly and ripped the last succulent strip of meat from the stick, before tossing it into the small fire that was now dwindling behind Greyback. It was as if the flames _knew_ he was done with them. Harry wondered if that was part of the magic Greyback had said that werewolves had access to earlier.

 

  _They didn't need wands he said..._

 

 “You ready?” Greyback asked abruptly, calling Harry back from his reverie.

 

Harry blinked at him. “Ready for what?” he asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. It occurred to him to say thank you for the food, but the words died on his tongue. Surely if he was polite to Greyback, anything but flippant, indifferent or frustrated, it would be like accepting him, accepting… _this?_

 

 “We're about half a mile from the den, pet,” Greyback said simply, a knowing look in his otherwise impassive face. He was watching Harry still, gauging his reaction.

 

 Harry scowled. “Don't call me pet!” he demanded, exasperated. “Don’t give me pet names like we’re bloody _lovers_ or something.”

 

 Greyback’s eyes flickered with an intense emotion Harry was loathe to put a name to.

 

 “Oh, we’re much more than _lovers_.” Greyback punctuated the words by sliding forwards and capturing Harry’s chin between his rough thumb and forefinger. Harry shook his grip off, glaring up at him hatefully. This only made Greyback’s familiar smirk return to his lips.

 

 “We’re mated for life – you chose me, bound yourself to me and now you’re coming home.”

 

 The word stuck in Harry’s throat as he parted his lips to repeat it in sarcasm. That which Greyback had spoken of wasn’t something he easily came by. Hogwarts was probably the only place he had ever considered home, although The Burrow had come close. That Greyback spoke of giving him one made his insides ache. He ducked his head, trying to hide his reaction (even if Greyback could sense it) and got to his feet, his arms tense by his sides.

 

 “It _can’t_ be my home,” Harry managed hoarsely, the second word a true struggle to utter. “I don’t belong with you, whatever my body or instincts might think. I told you, I have things to do, things _only I_ can do–”

 

 “And I told you, that’s my job now. Whatever you left undone is my responsibility by default,” Greyback grunted, rising to his feet too and towering over him. He sounded and looked exasperated as well. “As your mate I’m an extension of you – just as your silly little wand was an extension of you.” He looked annoyed now as well at having to use wizarding terms to make Harry understand. _He hates wizards,_ Harry reminded himself, _he doesn’t consider me one anymore, obviously._

“I’m your strength, your power. You must use _me_ to complete whatever task you set out to do,” Greyback finished.

 

 “I’ve got enough strength and power of my own, thanks,” Harry retorted hotly. “And if I had my wand I’d gladly giveyou a demonstration.” It was meant to sound threatening, but Greyback didn’t look even remotely concerned. _More amused,_ Harry thought, irritated. “And if you are _my_ strength, what the hell am I to you?”

 

 Greyback considered him, looking a little… _embarrassed?_

 

 “They say the alpha numero is the heart of the alpha,” Greyback muttered under his breath, crossing the forest floor to the fire, where he stomped out the last of the dying embers. He seemed to be purposefully avoiding Harry’s eyes. “It is said that they give the brute strength and dominance purpose…”

 

 Harry scoffed. “What a crock of shit,” he grunted, “I’m the body for you to fuck, to do with and dispose of as you see fit. The litter bitch – I remember what those arseholes at the camp said.” He was referring to that band of outsiders lead by the red-headed brothers of course. Judging by the look of fury on Greyback’s face when he turned to look on him again, he’d registered that perfectly.

 

 “Those mongrels are _nothing_ like the rest of us!” Greyback snarled dangerously. His voice was so low it was almost a growl. “They’re an insult to our very _species_! Our mates, our subs – those like you with the ability to bear us live young, they’re precious to us. Gifts from the moon herself.” Greyback winced then as if any thought otherwise was repugnant to him. “Those outcasts are disgusting things. They’ve no respect for life or the earth that gives us our magic…”

 

 Harry frowned in confusion. “Magic is inside of us, not drawn from the elements,” he began but Greyback’s head snapped in his direction, silencing him.

 

 “But the elements _further_ the magic werewolves are born with, it’s part of what makes us such formidable foes. They fortify our magic, they help us to channel magic without a wand–”

 

 “But you _had_ a wand,” Harry cut across him. “I saw you with one the night Dumbledore died. You offered to kill him in Malfoy’s place on the tower!”

 

 For a moment a long silence fell between them. Greyback clearly hadn’t realised Harry had seen that, or that Harry had seen him at all before he’d _‘rescued’_ him from Voldemort. _Another reason I will never be yours,_ Harry snarled bitterly in his mind. Greyback was very nearly the one who had ended Dumbledore’s life as opposed to Snape. “You were ready to kill him,” Harry said quietly, without really meaning to speak out loud.

 

 Greyback sneered. “That old bastard kept one of my changelings from me,” he grunted. “I can never forgive that.”

 

 Harry stared at him, his eyes wide. He had a feeling that he knew _exactly_ which ‘changeling’ Greyback was referring to. His tongue darted over his suddenly dry lips and he tried to ignore the way those icy blue eyes followed the diminutive movement. “You mean Remus Lupin, don’t you?” he asked. Greyback didn’t need to answer with words, Harry saw that he was correct by the way the alpha’s body stiffened.

 

 “I know him. He’s a good man. You snuck into his home and bit him against his will. He _hates_ being a werewolf! He goes through agony every month because of you!”

 

 “Because of that interfering fool _Dumbledore,_ ” Greyback snarled, but he turned away, as if reluctant to continue on this subject. _Something to hide?_ Harry's mind hissed accusingly.

 

 “I bit the boy, yes,” Greyback continued, “there is no other way for our subs to have children. We take orphans and mistreated brats from their homes and welcome them into ours, give them a new life–”

 

 “A life they might not want!” Harry roared.

 

 Greyback’s muscles bunched as if he wanted to fly at Harry and pin him to the nearby tree by his throat. His large hands curled into fists and his eyes flared. “Surely anything is better than a life of abuse, pain and neglect?!” Greyback snapped through large, white gritted teeth. “As rumour has it _you_ should have wished for anything to take you away from those muggles of yours.”

 

 Harry stopped. Would he have welcomed the bite? Would he have fallen happily into the arms of a new family? A werewolf foster mother and father? He closed his eyes, trying to reel in his emotions, his memories. The memory of Dudley jumping up and down on the stairs above the cupboard he slept in, of Uncle Vernon’s biting comments about his unwanted presence, of every Christmas that Aunt Petunia showered Dudley with affection and presents – they swam through him like a bitter tide of aside. He held his breath.

 

 “But Remus had loving parents and every day he is _haunted_ by what you did to him,” Harry said, ignoring the swell of understanding rising in his belly. “You ruined his life just as you ruined mine!”

 

 “I don’t have to justify to you what I did years before you were even born!” Greyback spat.

 

 “You do when the victim is probably the closest thing I have left to a parent!” Harry retorted. Greyback snarled again and this time _did_ surge forwards, slamming his fist into the bark of the tree beside Harry's head, caging him in with his arm and body.

 

 “We hunt and watch, we search for our younglings,” Greyback hissed dangerously, his face inches from Harry's. Harry could feel his hot, musky breath on his face and inhaled sharply, holding it in as Greyback calmly raged. “He was abused and in pain, but his parents were not the culprits. By the time we realised it was too late. We tried to talk to his parents afterwards, wanted to help him, to help them to raise him so he wouldn’t suffer as he does now, but your precious _Dumbledore_ stuck his great nose in…”

 

 For a moment, Harry saw those azure eyes blaze with something unfamiliar, something akin to pain. Then the wolf stepped back from him, turning away. Harry breathed out at last, his heart still hammering. Had Remus been abused by someone else then? Or had Greyback mistaken the whole idea?

 

 “So how many other children did you mistakenly take from their families?” he asked, his voice slightly higher than normal.

 

 Greyback turned back to him again, but slowly this time. “I never made a mistake before then and I’ve not made one since.” The wolf paused then, as if considering whether to elaborate further. Harry could sense his discomfiture, his angry wretchedness. Greyback’s mouth twisted, opening and closing soundlessly and Harry swore he had been about to state his regret, but instead the wolf said, “I make a point of not making mistakes like that, as alpha.”

 

 Harry snorted. “It was a mistake to take me as your mate. You should have found yourself a nice bitch to rut with instead of me.” Why did that notion fill his chest with such uncomfortable fire? He swore he heard his instincts growling at the suggestion – in _jealousy._ These words seemed to eradicate the angst hanging so pungently in the air, for Greyback staggered back to him with a smirk on his lips. He caught Harry's chin between calloused thumb and forefinger.

 

 “Oh no, pet, you’re the right one for me. And my pack is the home for you, you’ll see,” the werewolf said, his smirk not fading even when Harry shook his chin free of his grasp. Blue eyes were on fire, fuelled by an emotion entirely different from anger now and it unnerved Harry to see it.

 

 After a moment, Greyback sniffed the air. Harry did so as well (as inconspicuously as possible to avoid Greyback noticing) but couldn’t smell anything. There was nothing there apart from the fresh air, the birds, the stream he could hear nearby and Greyback’s heady, musky scent. It made his cheeks colour a little as he realised he could still smell the evidence of their mating on the both of them. What would the pack say? They would know for sure!

 

 “I want a bath before we go to the den,” Harry said suddenly, looking to his right, the direction in which he sensed the clean water of the river. Greyback was looking at him knowingly. Harry refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the embarrassment in his eyes and did not look at him directly. “I’ll be quick,” Harry added, moving hastily through the trees without waiting for a reply. He didn’t want to give Greyback the chance to stop him. _Or to mutter some tasteless remark,_ he thought as he hastened towards the water source.

 

 The bubbling, crystal clear brook ran into a generous lake. The lake itself was headed by a grand waterfall that imbued the world around it with a rainbow of colours, the kind of image that seemed to be too beautiful to be natural. It was as if every droplet gushing over the waterfall was a liquid crystal, reflecting the light of the sun in stunning colour. It was a sight to behold, framed with those rich, magical trees and Harry’s jaw was still open with awe as he stripped off, hurrying into the water.

 

 It was cold and Harry shivered but did not stop. When he was waist deep, he began splashing the icy water over his skin, scrubbing with his hands to try and cleanse himself of the smells of sex. Besides whatever the pack thought, if he smelled this way when his friends came to save him, he didn’t think he would ever be able to look them in the eye again. Remus and Bill would be able to identify the obvious scents if no one else.

 

 The sun was warm, a fine contrast to the lake as it beamed down on his naked flesh – finally clean after an eternity of scrubbing. His hands were quite red now from his vigorous cleaning, but he felt whole at last, able to look down at his body without shame. It was pale as ever but bruised with the evidence of Greyback’s passion and his cheeks darkened at the sight. He stalked out of the water.

 

  _Slut,_ his mind hissed. _And you slept with him willingly the last time, all of your own volition. You came under him like some wanton…_

_I know!_ Harry berated himself, stooping down to pull on his trousers after the sun had dried him sufficiently. _A moment of weakness, of wanting to feel_ wanted _and_ cherished _just like he said. But never again!_ Even if Greyback had _had_ a reason to want to kill Dumbledore, if he hadn’t attacked children maliciously and had even _unwittingly_ ruined Remus’ life, it didn’t matter. He had still hurt Bill and _still_ changed him, Harry without his consent. _I will never consent to be with someone like that,_ he reminded himself fiercely. _Much less have kids with them_!

 

 Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he sighed and reached for the shirt and fur cloak he had taken to wearing, but froze mid-motion. He could smell, no _sense_ others around him. Whirling on the spot, he reached for a wand that wasn’t there and gasped as a large hand seized his throat, choking the breath from him. It squeezed, lifting him high off his feet so that he spluttered and flailed, his hands clawing at the one holding him captive.

 

 “Let go of me!” He choked, staring down at his attacker through clenched eyes that were beginning to water. There were three of them. None of them were Greyback. The brute holding him was tall and bulky like Greyback but with pallid flesh, short, dishevelled obsidian hair and hungry brown eyes that stared up at Harry. They were like knives penetrating his soul.

 

 Harry struggled more as he felt the breath beginning to leave his lungs, felt his body shaking with spasms of oxygen starvation. The dark haired creature holding him leant in and inhaled him deeply, rolling his eyes back with pleasure. “Oh, a squirming sub. You smell so good, baby,” he panted, his breath against Harry's neck. Harry winced, choking audibly now.

 

 “Look at him wriggle,” a high, biting voice from the right snarled, originating from a dark-blonde beauty who was glaring at Harry with pure loathing. That expression was the last clear thing he saw before his vision started to swirl into a haze of colour and pain at his throat. _Accio wand!_ He thought desperately, stupidly in his panic. _Accio wand!_ But nothing came.

 

 “Let _go_ of his throat!” A low, dangerous voice demanded and immediately Harry landed with a thud on the ground, clutching at his throbbing throat. He blinked blindly up at the bright sky and gasped, spluttering. He edged back as a shadow fell over him.

 

 “No!” he choked but two hands heaved him to his knees by his shoulders regardless. One of them moved to his jaw, tilting his head back to expose the agonising bruises Harry _knew_ must be brewing there. The fingers on his jawline were coarse but familiar, the claws that accompanied them digging lightly into his skin. Much to his dismay his hormones, instincts, _whatever_ they were had flickered to life again alongside the flames of human panic inside him.

 

 Greyback’s breath danced across the side of his neck where his mark was no doubt being marred by bruising. He _felt_ Greyback’s concern overcome with fury. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?!” he roared. Harry blinked, finding his vision just in time to see his three attackers recoiling, falling to their knees as if struck and bowing their heads like scolded puppies.

 

 The girl looked wiry and powerfully lean whereas the man that had held him and the dark-skinned male beside him were both bulky with taut muscle. They were huge, powerful and yet they were bowing and scraping under Greyback’s gaze like whipped dogs. Harry felt shock ripple through him.

 

 Surging forwards, Greyback bore down on them, his back arched as if he were about to transform in his rage. “Couldn’t you smell he was mine?!”

 

 “We couldn’t smell you on him, sir!” the dark-skinned male further at the back murmured respectfully. “Apologies, Alpha, the scent was barely noticeable until we were up close and then we thought it came from the fur cloak – we thought he must have stolen it from you–”

 

 “And when has _anyone_ ever stolen _anything_ from me?” Greyback cut across him. Harry could almost _feel_ Greyback’s fury rushing through him as if it were his own. His body was still shaking with the shock of being starved for air, but he felt the chill of the breeze on his skin and struggled in to his shirt. Greyback cast a glance back to him at his movement, seemingly annoyed that he had moved but turned that irritation on the three before him.

 

 “You two smelt a piece of tail and you chased it without thought!” he spat, “and _you_ –” He glared at the blonde woman. She bowed even lower at the address. “You egged them on. I’m disgusted that you’re part of my pack–”

 

 “Please, Alpha,” the dark man at the back murmured again contritely, “we offer penance, we didn’t know. We never should have–”

 

 “Enough, Marrok,” Greyback snapped, before turning his icy blue eyes to the man at the front, the man who had grabbed Harry. Greyback roared with fury and surged forwards again, seizing the man by the throat just as _he_ had Harry, shaking him while he held him off the ground. The man himself was as big as Greyback, it was no mean feat. Harry could not help but being a little awed despite himself.

 

 “And _you,_ Weylyn,” Greyback growled as if addressing the lowest piece of filth, “ _You_ laid your stinking fingers on my mate–”

 

 “Alpha!” Weylyn spluttered, gasping for air, his deep voice broken with choking, “I didn’t–”

 

 “But you _would_ have,” Greyback cut across him tersely, “you would have seen my mark if you hadn’t been so quick to wrap your mangy mitts around his neck. And even if he weren’t mine, we don’t treat subs that way. I should _rip your throat out…_ ” He punctuated his words by squeezing Weylyn’s thick neck, blood oozing from where his claws pierced his skin. The two on the floor winced but did not raise their heads to defend their companion, Harry noted, he swallowed. Was Greyback’s power over them so absolute? Harry wasn’t sure he liked that.

 

  _They strangled you! They might have killed you or worse,_ a dark corner of his mind whispered. _He should be angry. He should punish them! He’s angry because they hurt you!_

_Or angry because they touched his property?_ Harry snarled back, still shaking from shock but forcing himself to rise to his feet regardless. “Fenrir, no!” Harry gasped, his throat _aching_ at every word. He was just as surprised as Greyback to hear his first name on his lips, but it did the trick.

 

 Greyback wheeled around to look at him; upon seeing him upright but unsteady, he dropped Weylyn unceremoniously and moved to his side. Harry tried to bat him off but was unsuccessful.

 

 “Be still,” Greyback growled, urging him back down to the grass and pulling his cloak around Harry's shoulders. Harry fought him fruitlessly and gripped those massive arms to force the alpha to look at him.

 

 “Don’t kill him. It’s just a bruise, I’m fine,” he said, no little amount of pleading in his voice. He’d seen so much death, he didn’t want to see anymore – especially on his behalf. “I don’t want anyone to die for me. And the other bloke didn’t do anything at all anyway.” His tongue darted over his dry lips when Greyback just looked at him, as if he were speaking some foreign language. “Please, Fenrir!” Harry demanded then, his frustration and desperation mounting. His fingers dug into Greyback’s arms and he felt his blunt nails scrape that impenetrable flesh.

 

 After a stagnant moment of uncertainty, Greyback shook his head and extricated himself from Harry's grip, getting to his feet. “Your alpha numero speaks out for you, though I don’t think you deserve the honour,” he snarled, addressing the three on the ground again, who had been staring at Harry but quickly snapped their gazes back to the grass. _They were surprised I spoke out for them? Or that I stood up to Fen– Greyback_? Harry wondered.

 

 “He’s my mate, your superior and you’ll take the last scraps of each meal and border patrol every night until I’m satisfied you’ve repented enough,” Greyback told them, giving the three of them a final, disparaging look before turning back to Harry as if they had vanished into thin air. When those azure eyes reached Harry, however, the concern Harry felt before the rage was all that was visible.

 

 “Are you alright?” That low, rough voice asked and Harry nodded, his throat still too sore to make him want to risk speech if he didn’t need to. As if asking permission, Greyback’s hand hovered momentarily over Harry's jaw. Harry blinked at him for a moment, unsure what acquiescing would mean in their peculiar relationship. _But he did save your life¸_ that infuriating voice whispered. He sighed, tilting his head to the side.

 

 Greyback hissed at the sight of his neck, a sound of sympathy pain and his thumb ghosted the sore skin gently. “Let me,” he werewolf breathed and Harry frowned, not understanding what he meant until that hot breath dusted his throat, a wet tongue lapping at his bruised flesh. He winced but did not allow a sound to slip past his lips. Not even when that mouth coated his flesh with a light sheen of saliva that he _felt_ healing his hurt.

 

 A blush suffused his cheeks with heat and colour. What must he look like? _Why do you give a shit?_ “S-Stop!” he whispered, breathing harshly. To his surprise, the wolf immediately drew back. Those darkened eyes considered him for a moment and then they were gone. Greyback helped him to his feet and then turned back to the trio, who still hadn’t moved.

 

 “Weylyn, Marrok, Larentia, you take the hunt. If you bring back a good kill for my mate’s welcoming feast it might help me to forgive you,” Greyback snapped, beginning to walk away from them, gesturing for Harry to follow. Harry still felt dazed, a little out of it from the lack of air but _knew_ that he wouldn’t usually have followed after the alpha so readily. But for some reason, whether it was an instinct or something else, he found that his feet were already carrying him forward, away from the chastised trio.

 

 Harry swore it was his instincts that made him move, urged him to get away from the danger and as close to his mate as possible. _But when my magic comes to me, or I find a wand (whichever comes first) I can defend myself,_ he told his instincts tersely, disliking the way they so readily urged him to depend on Greyback – without pause.

 

  _That part of me trusts him implicitly to protect me, to provide for me,_ Harry thought, watching the alpha’s back as he followed him into the forest and well away from the lake. They were heading deeper into the forest, toward the ‘cave’ that was the den of the pack, he supposed. _My pack, my home, he said,_ Harry remembered, trying not to dwell too long on that thought and distract himself from the important question at hand.

 

 Did he trust Fenrir? The bastard couldn’t lie to him, he cared about him (for whatever warped reason) and he had saved him more than once now. It was an odd thought, one Harry wasn’t entirely sure of, but in this wilderness in the middle of nowhere, Fenrir Greyback was his only ally and a seemingly valuable one at that…

 

  _And he made me come,_ Harry thought, a frown furrowing his brow. _I willingly did so, with him. What the hell does that mean?_

 

 “Stop over thinking things, you’ll do yourself an injury,” Greyback said suddenly, cutting through Harry's reverie.

 

 Harry’s frown intensified. “You’re one to talk,” he grumbled, stepping into stride with him. “Those three back there, they were your pack?” Harry asked. He received only a nod in answerGreyback nodded. “Do all werewolves bow and scrape to you like that?” He swore he saw the smallest of smirks playing along those lips at the question.

 

 “Apparently not you,” Greyback mused before adding, “Mine is the largest pack in Britain, that gives me higher status over alphas from other packs. Lower ranked wolves show more submission than another alpha might but, yes, if they commit a sin as serious as Weylyn just did, they do prostrate themselves before me in forgiveness.”

 

 Harry snorted. “If you’re hoping I’ll do that every time I piss you off, you’re in for an awful shock,” he said. That slither of a smirk stretched wider across Greyback’s lips.

 

 “Oh, pet, if I wanted that I would’ve waited for a more amiable, submissive mate.” His tone was heady and it made Harry's cheeks colour again even as his eyes widened in surprise. What the hell did that mean?

 

 “But if you chose someone else they couldn’t give you what I could. They couldn’t give you…well, you know… _kids_. Not that I will,” Harry said, confused and embarrassed about how those words had come out. Greyback looked down at him with a raised brow; he too seemed confused but amused at Harry's rash choice of words.

 

 “ _That,_ your _lack_ of submissiveness and your wilfulness are all why I chose you,” Greyback said simply, before inhaling the breeze that rushed through the leaves and the sparkling forest around them. “Now come on, the den’s entrance is just through here…”

 

 The trees did not thin as they approached it; on the contrary they were thick and strong. Their branches seemed to move out of Greyback’s path on the breeze, as if they knew it was him passing through. The den’s entrance turned out to be a sheer rock face, part of a seemingly impenetrable mountain that reached up to the heavens beyond Harry’s sight. His head hung backwards as he tried to spy the top, but it was impossible.

 

 There seemed to be no opening in the great expanse of ethereal, silvery grey. At first. Harry watched with interest as Greyback approached a point in the rock where sunlight bathed its surface, dancing through the crevices – glistening.

 

 Looking at it more carefully, Harry noticed that the closest trees were reaching across it to form a makeshift archway with their branches. A frame of glinting leaves where the door should have been. Greyback pressed his large palm to the centre of this section and Harry watched in surprise as the rock began to glow with unyielding bluish light. A high-pitched ringing overwhelmed him. It was so intense that he had to cover his ears and close his eyes in an attempt to keep it out.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	6. Home and Solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will answer reviews tomorrow as this week has been mental and it's 2.00am here now X3 But I want you to know I have read them and I really appreciate every word of your comments. They mean so much to me! They really have helped me to get through this awful week xxx

.: Chapter Six :.

Home and Solace

 

 

 

 The noise died along with the light as abruptly as they came. When Harry opened his eyes again he saw a smooth, cavernous arch had opened up, illuminated inside by a glowing light without a source. “That sound can only be heard by werewolves, it’s on a frequency only we can hear,” Greyback explained at the look on his face. “It alerts those posted at the gates inside that they have visitors, but the door can only be opened by one of our blood.”

 

  _Better than the Fidelius,_ Harry thought, in some ways at least. Greyback was speaking with an air of pride and he understood why, he was obviously very protective and proud of his home. _I probably would be too if I had one._ He felt practically the same way about Hogwarts, which was the closest thing he knew to home.

 

“That’s why you heard it, pet,” Greyback said then, jerking Harry back from his thoughts. “Because you belong here, to us – you feel it in your gut even if you don’t know it with your head.”

 

 Harry snorted, trying to seem indifferent and avoiding those blue eyes as he stepped first into the cavern. The cave wall closed in behind them but darkness did not fall. His jaw did, however, with sheer awe. Every inch of the carved rock that formed the vast walls, ceiling and floor glistened as if they were carved from illuminated moonstone. Every facet shone with blues, greens and pinks and as Harry reached out to touch them, he found that they were slightly warm, humming with light vibrations as if filled with their own, elemental magic.

 

 “When you said _cave_ ,” Harry began, staring around at the tunnel, “This isn’t what I imagined.” He couldn’t keep the awe from his voice. Slender, irregular but beautiful columns stood floor to ceiling, radiating sunlight, as if they were channelling it somehow from above. Harry _swore_ he could see a few clouds floating across their surface.

 

 Beside him, Greyback chuckled and gestured him to follow him on through the tunnel. Harry fell into step beside him, his eyes still roving every inch of the tunnel as it curved slightly to the left. There were countless other directions to take, a maze of passageways and turn-offs and it looked like any one of them could have lead to the heart of the mountain, where he assumed the den would be.

 

 Fenrir seemed to take a random path, left, left, right, straight on, right again. Harry felt quite dizzy with it all. Every turn looked the same; he could see how easy it would be to get lost and claustrophobic in here. “You’ve got your very own labyrinth,” Harry said before he could stop himself. Greyback cocked his head to look down at him as they walked.

 

 “No one except pack can get in, it’s just an extra security measure. There’s only one right route, any other will keep you circling the caves for eternity – or until the person on watch catches you, but trust me,” his eyes looked full of dark promise all of a sudden _, danger_ even _._ “If you’re caught trespassing here, you’d rather you weren’t found.” His fangs were dazzling white in the light from the pillars and Harry raised a brow. He wasn’t afraid of Greyback.

 

 “I can believe it,” he said, like a parent trying to pacify a child with the reply they wanted. “You said you had children in your pack though. Surely it’s dangerous to have a bloody labyrinth in your own home?” He was only mildly curious, but he couldn’t bear to lapse back into silence again. He _swore_ he could hear low, grumbling snores echoing in the distance from the tunnels they _didn’t_ go down. What on earth did they have down here guarding them? He tried not to think of the stories he had heard at primary school, like that of the minotaur that had lurked within King Minos of Crete’s legendary maze.

 

 He shivered. To his annoyance, Greyback noticed. His large hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder. “There’s nothing in here that’d harm you,” the wolf said with what was no doubt meant to be reassuring promise.

 

 Harry shrugged off his hand. “Like your pack wouldn’t? Those three back there that nearly strangled me; they were _my_ pack weren’t they? How do I know they won’t all try and throttle me?!” His voice echoed slightly around the cave as it rose.

 

 Greyback scowled at him. “Weylyn always thinks with his prick first and Larentia is just a spiteful whore. There are _humans_ like them in the outside world, every species has them. You are what those rogues called you, ‘Alpha Numero’ it means the only person in this pack who doesn’t _have_ to adhere to your whims is me.” He paused then, tracing the shape of Harry’s jaw with his coarse thumb. “And I think we can both compromise on each other’s whims when we want to – like this morning, for instance…”

 

 Harry flushed brightly and shoved Greyback away from him, panting hard. “Don’t make fun of me, it pisses me off,” he snarled, “and don’t get any ideas about this morning either, it was a mistake and it _won’t_ happen again.”

 

 Greyback grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him in close, their faces a hairsbreadth apart. Harry inhaled his breath and then held it, unwilling to take in anymore of the alpha’s air. It was like an indirect kiss!

 

 “I could take you right here on the floor and you would love every minute of it. You _want me,_ pet. Why is that such a terrible thing?”

 

 “Because I’m only here because you won’t let me go!” Harry snapped. “It’s like a prisoner falling for their gaoler–”

 

 “The point is I _could_ take you, knowing you would enjoy it but hate yourself and me afterwards, but I don’t,” Greyback cut across him, his voice and eyes unreadable.

 

 “The only reason you don’t is because you’re trying to buy my forgiveness, my affection – your way into my good books, however you want to phrase it,” Harry scoffed, pushing himself out of Greyback’s grasp. But at the same time he knew also that if Greyback refused to let go, there was no way Harry would have been able to break free of his grasp.

 

 A low growl rumbled in the alpha’s throat. He did look angry now, barely in control of his temper. “I’m your pack leader. I don't bribe or buy good behaviour – I expect it!”

 

 “What you expect and what you get are two different things. I’ll never give you what you want, not willingly,” Harry said darkly. “Even if that makes you retract your offer of sending your… _men_ to help my friends.” He grit his teeth, steeling himself, waiting for Greyback’s temper to explode, as it seemed to be close to doing.

 

 To his surprise, however, Greyback clenched his hands into fists and turned away, stalking off up the tunnel. It seemed like he was fighting against every muscle in his body that was drawn taut in desperation to _hit_ Harry. “I don’t break my promises,” Greyback growled. “Hurry up.”

 

 Eventually light began to fill the tunnel from up ahead, a great expanse of light that somehow Harry just _knew_ came from the outside world. He could feel it in his very skin, just as he had felt the oncoming of the moon. He could smell, _taste_ the fresh air on his tongue. “Is the den on the other side of the mountain?” he asked, confused. They hadn’t walked far enough to have walked the breadth of the monstrous mountain, of that he was sure.

 

 “You’ll see,” was Greyback’s only reply as the light at the end of the tunnel grew stronger.

 

 Why was he walking alongside this werewolf alpha and convicted killer again? And so _amiably_?

_Because there’s no way out yet,_ he reminded himself. _I can’t escape him without a wand, not outright, but if Ron and Hermione figure out that I’m here after Greyback’s_ ‘messenger’ _visits them…_

 

 At last the end of the tunnel was before them. These were the gates, he supposed. Two great gates that completely blocked the gaping exit to the tunnel from ceiling to floor. They were forged from a thick yet elegantly entwined lattice of branches that grew from the ground. The same magically glistening leaves grew from them, yet they seemed to be rooted deep in the ground. It was as if they were still alive. Were they? He opened his mouth to voice his question but Greyback beat him to speech.

 

 “It’s me Echo, open up.” At those words a figure appeared on the other side of the rustic gates. He was only a few inches taller than Harry, with tousled short rusty bronze hair that hung into his dark, calculating eyes – eyes that lingered over him until Greyback spoke again.

 

 “Harry this is Echo, my beta. Echo this is Harry, my mate.”

 

 Harry knew vaguely that that word meant Echo was a ‘second’ of sorts to the alpha of the pack. What made his thought process halt momentarily, however, was the sound of his first name for the first time on Greyback’s lips. It felt… _odd_ but nowhere near as bad as he would’ve liked it to be.

 

 Echo nodded slowly to them both, his eyes falling on Harry one more time before he silently reached up and grabbed a hold of the bright white blossom that Harry only just noticed, rooted into the centre of where the gates joined. Once Echo held the crisp white bloom in his hand, the roots that wound around the two edges of the gates seemed to recoil away like uneasy serpents and the gates opened. Harry stepped out into the light along with Greyback and once again, Harry's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

 

 They weren’t on the other side of the mountain. They were _inside_ the mountain. Harry stood in a momentous expanse of lush grass, a circular savannah with the mountain’s walls reaching high and protective around them. It was if nature was embracing them, caring for them. The sun bathed the grassland, so perfect it could have been a paradisiacal oasis.

 

 At the centre, the rich grass rose slightly into a hill decorated with a great willow tree that’s long sweeping branches hung into a pond. Children were gathered around it, giggling playfully as they splashed each other or chased the birds and frogs nearby. Other smaller trees were scattered about. Far to the right there was a large level area, circular again but paved with the same opal-like stone from inside the cave, like a courtyard. In the middle of this stood a large stone circle that housed a body of dancing flames.

 

 Some people were gathered around the fire, evidently preparing for the meal to be brought in from the ‘hunt’. Others were scattered about hanging laundry or entertaining other small children, whilst the others seemed to be tending to a thriving vegetable patch to the opposite side of the clearing to the stone ‘courtyard’ area.

 

 Harry stepped forward without thinking. Flowers that flourished in a myriad of colours graced the ground and Harry had to fight the desire to kick off his shoes and let his toes sink into the plush grass. This was definitely not what he had expected when Greyback had said ‘cave’.

 

 The walls of the mountain were dotted with rounded doors made of dark wood that lead into, what Harry could only assume where the homes of the people here – the pack. _Your pack,_ the wolf in him whispered encouragingly; Harry tried not to listen to it. He couldn’t be thinking like that. It wasn’t his decision. That decision had already been made for him the night Voldemort ‘marked him as his equal’ – even if he _had_ wanted to call this place home, he couldn’t. Not that he did.

 

 “Alright?” Greyback asked him, clearly confused as he came to stand just behind him. Harry turned quickly, stumbling back a few paces to put a more comfortable distance between them. He noticed that the gates had locked behind them again and Echo was close by, watching them avidly.

 

 “Yeah,” Harry answered slowly, very conscious of the other man watching him. He wasn’t sure what to make of him yet. He suddenly felt very aware as well that he was now in Greyback’s home and that everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at the strange new arrival. He was an intruder in their secret, safe world within the mountain’s embrace.

 

 “Greyback,” Harry began, certain that he must feel the air of interest and apprehension in the pack approaching them. Greyback however, only stood straighter, with no flicker of concern emanating from him. He seized Harry by the waist and hauled him closer, quieting Harry's imminent argument with a small growl.

 

 “Be still, pet, you’re their alpha’s mate–”

 

 “I don’t _belong_ here,” Harry hissed under his breath and he felt Greyback’s irritation pique, but before he could act on that, the pack were gathered around them. There were men, women and children of varying builds. Harry scolded himself for being surprised at how normal, well kept and happy they all looked. They seemed ecstatic to see Greyback at any rate and generally confused about his, Harry’s presence here.

_They can smell Greyback all over me probably,_ Harry realised wretchedly.

 

 “You were away for a few days this time, Alpha,” a soft-voiced woman with greying, auburn hair said, shifting a toddler up on her hip as she surveyed Harry with wonder, before looking back to Greyback again. She reached up (only a few inches taller than Harry herself) and ran her fingers through Greyback’s mane. Harry was surprised to feel jolt of irritation, the urge to swat the woman’s hand away.

 

  _I_ cannot _be jealous of Greyback,_ he scolded himself. _It must be an instinctual thing…_

“You’ll have to let me cut your hair, Fenrir, it’s growing positively wild,” she said and Greyback gave her a small smile, one that made Harry’s insides clench. Perhaps werewolf mates were not monogamous? Or perhaps since Harry hadn’t bound them fully (hadn’t bit Greyback) the alpha had freedom to flirt and smile at others as he pleased? _Stop it,_ Harry snapped at himself, the jealousy leaving a vile taste in his mouth.

 

 “Later,” Greyback said, placating her. His hand on Harry’s waist tightened again, but whether it was meant as reassurance or was just a simple reaction to the emotions Greyback must feel radiating from him, Harry wasn’t sure. “Tergarletum kept me longer than expected,” Greyback explained to the others, causing Harry’s brow to furrow with confusion. What the hell was _Tergarletum_?

 

 “That and the speed of your journey back was impeded by your companion,” Echo said from beside them. It was a statement, not a question. Harry could not decipher either disapproval or acceptance in his expression – he was completely unreadable.

 

 “You’ve scented him, haven’t you?” Echo asked, the smallest of smirks touching his lips. Harry could not help but flush at the sight of it as Echo murmured with an air of teasing, “I could smell it before you even reached the end of the tunnel; he’s truly your mate, Alpha?”

 

 Greyback smirked at his beta, who seemed to be talking to Greyback as if they were…friends, perhaps? “He is and he carries the recessive gene,” he murmured, his tone thick with both pride and protectiveness. Harry didn’t know that he cared for either. He just felt awkward standing there under so many stares, as if he were back at Hogwarts during those terrible times they had thought he was the heir of slytherin, or lying about Voldemort’s return and Cedric’s death.

 

 Harry growled under his breath before he could stop himself, an instinctive, wolfish urge he didn’t have the chance to quell. Everyone fell silent. Greyback turned to look at him but it was Echo who spoke. “I don’t know that your mate cares for being spoken about as if he isn’t there, Alpha,” he mused, stepping forward to offer his hand to Harry.

 

 The human gesture was made purposefully to make him feel more comfortable, Harry knew and that was the main reason that he accepted the beta’s hand, appreciating the effort he had made. “Thanks,” Harry muttered, trying to breeze over the _growl_ that had fallen from his lips. “I’m Harry, by the way,” it was an unnecessary introduction, he knew that but it felt better to establish himself properly, with his own lips.

 

 Echo’s impassive expression morphed into a warm smile. “Even werewolves know who you are, Harry Potter,” he said, causing a few of the young ones gathered around to gasp. They too had heard stories of ‘the chosen one’ Harry realised, despite their secluded lifestyle. Releasing Echo’s hand, Harry nodded slowly.

 

 “It’s my name not a title, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me any differently just because of a few lucky escapes from–” he barely held back from saying the now taboo name that had landed him in all this mess, “ _Him_.”

 

 At this, the woman who had touched Greyback’s hair with the blond tot in her arms moved toward him, also smiling as if she were his favourite teacher or long-lost relative. “My name is Amoux, Harry,” she said warmly, “and you will be treated differently. Not because of what has happened to you, but because of what you are. You’re a very precious gift to our kind, a treasure and our Alpha Numero. We hope you will be happy here.” She glanced at Echo as if for reassurance and then held out her hand, mimicking his gesture from before, as if she didn’t truly understand what it meant, only that it was important to Harry.

 

 Harry swallowed, not sure how he felt about the lump rising in his throat and took a step back from her, away from all of them. He just wanted to be _away_ from here, from all of this. It was far too painful to bear, akin to the misery he’d felt looking in on the love and the home Dudley had had growing up whilst he’d had nothing. It was everything he longed for waved cruelly in front of his face when he knew full well he could not accept it – that decision wasn’t his to make, even if he wanted to find it here.

 

 It was not the time or the place.

 

 Evidently sensing his distress, Greyback reached out for him again but Harry leapt back as if his hand were a red-hot branding iron. “Don’t,” he said, clearing his throat to try and rid his voice of the quavering emotion there. “I’m sorry,” he tried again, addressing the pack this time. They all wanted him here, just because he had this recessive gene or ability? Or was every newcomer accepted with such compassion and understanding? It hurt everywhere to contemplate.

 

 “There’s some mistake,” he said, “I don’t belong here, I’m not… There are things I have to do. I have responsibilities. You’ve heard of _Him,_ right? Well I have to stop him; I can’t stay here and play happy families. I can’t hide here like a coward while everyone I love is out there fighting for a mission that only I can finish.”

 

 Amoux did step closer then, setting her toddler down. The bright-eyed tot with curly blond locks (evidently not of her blood) tottered forwards, reaching up for Harry, who frowned in confusion down at him. “Our pack know each other by scent before sight,” Amoux explained patiently with a smile. Everyone was still watching. “Vilkas wants to smell you.”

 

 Harry’s frown did not dissipate, rather it intensified at her explanation but he leant down regardless. He was somehow under the power of the infant’s vulnerable eyes and he allowed the boy to set his hands on his cheeks, to lean in so that their faces were nearly touching, nose to nose. His instincts, again, he realised.

 

 Their young and the young of the pack ruled the subs. Harry knew that _somehow_ and he felt the boy inhale deeply, once, twice and then a smile broke across his painfully beautiful face. Harry felt his breath stick in his lungs.

 

 “I think you know Harry, _this_ is why you’re so unsettled inside,” Amoux whispered as she leant down to draw her adopted son back into her arms. “Your soul wants one thing while the human guilt in you feels indebted to another. Let your pack, your mate help you with this burden. Your concerns are ours now, just as ours are yours.”

 

 Harry shook his head, wanting to recoil but unable to move while the child’s eyes held him. He wanted to embrace him the way Amoux was embracing him now. It felt so odd, so unnerving. “I’m going mad with all these instincts inside me that aren’t bloody mine,” he part whispered, part gasped with hoarse exhaustion, not realising he had spoken aloud until Amoux answered him.

 

 “All turned wolves feel that way when they are first changed, especially one turned and then mated so quickly. It is confusing for you, but Fenrir did it so that you could not be claimed by others less… _worthy._ ” Her eyes darkened briefly and Harry thought of those like Conall and his cohorts who had tried to rape him, who wanted to share him around and breed him like some prized horse. He cringed. He felt quick sick. Maybe he would be sick.

 

 Suddenly, a warm hand, slightly smaller than Greyback’s touched his shoulder. Harry glanced up from his reverie to find Echo standing above him. Why were they all so concerned about him when they didn’t even know him? Was it because they all knew how damaging these instincts were to him?

 

  _They understand that it’s driving me insane_ , Harry realised, _they know I’m about to break._

 

 But why did they care? That was what he couldn’t understand more than anything else. He had unwittingly, _unwillingly_ joined their pack because Greyback had fucked him – that was all. They hadn’t chosen him as their own. Why was he being welcomed so warmly? It was just how it had been his first time at the Weasleys; welcomed as if he were worth something and he understood it even less now than he had then.

 

 “Let the alpha take you to your den, you should rest,” Echo said, “And when you’re a bit more settled, we will hold a feast to celebrate your arrival.”

 

 Harry’s belly churned at the thought of a feast. Truly, food was the last thing on his mind but _rest_ … Yes. He wished he could sleep forever, it would be so much less complicated. It would surely make the confused ache, the clashing myriad of emotions in his chest and head fade away.

 

 There were more words but he didn’t register them, only that Greyback was urging him away from the discomfiting crowds – his presence both infuriating and soothing at the same time. He lead Harry to a round, dark wood door and hesitated only briefly before he pushed it open for him. It was warm inside and softly lit with the same columns of light that the cave had been adorned with.

 

 Inside the den the walls were smooth, carved from the same sparkling opal-like rock from before. A set of wide rustic shelves housing furs, blankets and clothes stood near the entrance. A little further in a cozy but generous sized fire was burning and the flames seemed to stoke themselves as Greyback opened the door, as if sensing his presence. Yet there was no smoke. This place was built with magic, it seemed.

 

 Around the fire a semicircle of lush thick furs and pillows formed a seating arrangement. Just behind it, the floor was raised slightly to form the segregated sleeping area and on top of it, in the far right corner stood a large bed of furs. A semi-transparent curtain hung around it that flowed like water as the breeze from the outside tickled its hem, presumably to offer the sleeper privacy whilst others were in the den. However despite the fact that there was (no doubt) space for a family in here, it looked as if Greyback lived here alone.

 

  _Until now,_ his instincts purred gratifyingly. He snarled inwardly at the eagerness in its voice.

 

 “That archway on the far left leads to a small spring,” Greyback explained. “Each of the dens have one, our ancestors channelled them. They clean and replenish themselves. It’s a luxury a lot of packs don’t have.” He sounded peculiar, as if he wanted Harry to like it, as if he wanted to impress him with his home. Oddly, Harry could understand that though and he nodded in acceptance. He did owe Greyback his life a few times over now, after all.

 

  _Even if he is the reason I’m in this situation in the first place._

 

 “What’s _Tergarletum_?” Harry asked without really caring about the answer, simply eager to quell the uneasy feeling that reared up as silence fell between them. He felt… _odd._ Not quite ‘emotional’ but definitely not himself. The idea of collapsing into the bed in the far corner and not waking up was far too appealing – he didn’t like it.

 

 “The _Dark Lord_ goes by many names,” Greyback murmured. “Werewolves have called him by that name since he first rose to power, his other names didn’t suit our tastes. He is no lord over us, we do not fear to speak his name and the one he chose for himself isn’t easily used without disastrous results – as you found out first hand,” Greyback said, his thoughts in another place as he gazed at Harry. He seemed to be trying to ascertain his mood.

 Harry merely nodded again, pleased somehow that Greyback didn’t give Voldemort the satisfaction of calling him by any of his preferred names. He respected him for it. Greyback stepped towards him then, gauging Harry’s reaction as he reached out and tilted Harry’s chin up to better look into his face.

 

 “You know the reason for the unsettled feelings inside you, don’t you?” Greyback murmured. Harry frowned but the alpha didn’t give him chance to interrupt. “It’s because our bond is incomplete. You’re torn between two worlds and it’ll stay that way until you mark me and seal our union.”

 

 Harry blanched. “I don’t want that,” he growled in irritation. “Why can’t you and your bloody pack–?”

 

 “ _Our_ pack–”

 

 “Why can’t you understand that I’ll feel like shit until you let me go,” Harry shouted over him. “Whatever you say, I don’t want to be here. Even if I _do_ want to belong here, belong to you like you seem to think I do subconsciously or _whatever,_ the longer I stay here the more people will get hurt. People are dying because of _Him_ and I’m the only one who can stop him. I don’t want anyone else to die because I was too slow, too stupid or thoughtless to do what I’ve been chosen to do!”

 

 Greyback snarled and seized him by his shoulders. “Chosen by who, eh?” he snapped. “What _generous_ patron laid that kind of responsibility on a kid of seventeen?”

 

 “As opposed to being chosen for the responsibility of bringing children into a loveless relationship at seventeen?” Harry bit back venomously.

 

 Greyback snorted. “You were born to bring children into the world. I chose you because I wanted you and to protect you from _Him,_ from arseholes like Conall and his brothers. But I know you want me and no one said I would be forcing you to conceive anything at seventeen,” he sneered. “You’re still a kid yourself. You’ve got plenty to learn and plenty of fucking up to do before you’re ready.”

 

 Harry glared, torn between shock at the notion that Greyback _didn’t_ expect him to _breed_ right away and outraged that the bastard assumed that Harry would allow it at all! Before he could even open his mouth to respond, however, Greyback continued with offended irritation. “I _told_ you that you would get to choose and I never break my promises. You may be pissed off with the way things began between us, call it _force_ if you want but I won’t be forcing you to carry anything.”

 

 Harry frowned. “I told you, I’ll never want to carry _anything_ of yours inside me. I don’t care if my body was made to do… _this._ Loads of women across the world decide not to do what their bodies were made for and I’m siding with them.” His tone was bitter, sharp and unyielding, perhaps a little childish even but he didn’t care.

 

 “You will want to one day, trust me,” was all that Greyback said. “But the point is, you’ve dealt with enough shit because of _Him,_ the way I’ve heard it. Let the people who started this bloody mess fix their own problems.”

 

 “I can’t Fenrir!” Harry shouted. It might have been the undeniable frustration and despair in his voice, but Harry thought it was his unintentional use of the werewolf’s name that caused the alpha to look at him and listen for the first time since he’d woken in that barn, marked as his mate.

 

 Those unfathomable azure eyes glistened with an emotion Harry couldn’t place and Greyback’s handse h

 slid up from his shoulders to cup his neck. Those large hands hauled him in so that he tumbled against the werewolf’s chest and the beast leant down to nose into his hair, emitting a soothing, purring growl. Harry couldn’t help it, instinctually he answered with a low whine and closed his eyes, tipping his head back and allowing it to go limp in Greyback’s grasp.

 

  _This is what Ron and Hermione feel like when they hold each other. This is what lovers feel when they comfort each other,_ that voice whispered in his mind as he relished in the feel of Greyback’s heat warming him. _This is what solace feels like._ Another thing nobody had ever offered him before and he would never admit it aloud, but he was grateful for his instinctual reaction to the touch.

 

 Greyback nuzzled closer, growling softly against his neck and the hair that curled there just under his ear. Harry’s knees shuddered and he instinctually reached out, scraping at those meaty arms with his nails and crooning in response. “For once in your life let someone else fix things for you,” Greyback whispered coarsely in his ear, nipping at the fleshy lobe just under his lips.

 

 Harry groaned, gripping Greyback tighter for an infinitesimal second, before beginning to struggle. “No, I don’t want…” A sharp nip at the place where his pulse pounded against the vulnerable skin of his throat choked him into silence.

 

 “Be still,” Greyback demanded, manoeuvring his knee between Harry’s legs and swiping at his ankles to send them both tumbling into the plush seating area around the fire. He shoved the cloak off Harry’s shoulders roughly, tugging his shirt up to rest under his chin. With a low grumble, his teeth grazed Harry’s torso, chasing the shadows on his skin created by the dancing flames.

 

 “I will kill _Him_ if that’s what it takes. I’ll rip his bloody throat out so you don’t have to,” Greyback swore against Harry’s skin, his stubble tickling Harry’s chest as he flicked a tanned bud with his tongue until it hardened under his mouth.

 

 “Don’t,” Harry panted, meaning both the oath Greyback had uttered and the attentions that were kindling a fire in his groin.

 

 “Oh no, pet, you need some therapy,” the werewolf said gruffly, catching him under the knees and spreading them wide and back so that Harry’s knees were pressed against his shoulders. “Be still and enjoy, think of nothing but yourself for once in your shitty life,” Greyback ordered, leaning down to lick him on the cheek in what Harry could only guess was affection.

 

 Harry stared up at him with the firelight reflected in both of their eyes. He didn’t understand him or any of his pack for that matter. Why did they care so much about him? His thoughts were shoved brutally aside as Greyback’s stubbly chin brushed against his torso again, tickling a line down his sternum to his belly, where that wicked tongue dipped into his navel. Harry’s stomach clenched as Greyback mimicked the motion he’d created in his arse before, holding Harry’s gaze knowingly as he did so.

 

 “Stop,” Harry grunted, but his voice was hoarse and his instincts were running wild inside him. He felt insecure somehow and it was because of this wretched bond that he _would not_ complete. Would not and could not! But his hips flexed regardless, his cock hardening and arching up against his trousers, as if reaching for that mouth so close to it. It bumped into Greyback’s chin as he rolled his body upwards without thinking and the wolf emitted a dark chuckle.

 

 “You’re in a different world now, pet,” the alpha growled, lifting his head to graze the shape of Harry’s ankle with his unshaven jaw. He flicked Harry’s shoe off with his thumb. “One where you come first, before everything else, where you can depend on others – _me_. Where you will be spoilt and indulged until you melt.” He punctuated the point by running his devilish, damp tongue along Harry’s instep – which Harry never knew could be so sensitive. He gasped despite himself, he squirmed and he felt his cock react the same. His eyes grew wide and glassy with overwhelmingly simple pleasure as the werewolf nipped at the tip of his big toe.

 

 “Shit!” Harry panted, closing his eyes. He turned his head to the side so that his forehead rested against his knee – both of which were still being pinned to his shoulders by Greyback’s hands beneath them. They kept him immobile, kept him spread wide for whatever this beast had in mind. Harry loathed the way his body grew hotter at the thought. Sweat was beginning to bead across his neck and chest.

 

 “You’re sensitive because you’ve never known pleasure or comfort. It heightens your reactions to me,” Greyback murmured against the next toe, nipping that too before adding, “That’ why you collapsed into me just now. You deny what you are, what you want until you can take no more. Haven’t you seen what denying the truth of yourself has done to your Lupin?”

 

 Harry froze at that. He knew exactly what Greyback meant. Greyback, Conall, Echo and Cannagan, all the other wolves were healthier, stronger, happier because they had accepted what they were and more than that, their wolf forms were more… He scowled at himself for thinking ‘beautiful’, remembering the silver wolf he had fallen asleep with more than once already. No, Remus’ wolf was a sickly, twisted cross between wolf and man, yet it was neither. It was an embodiment of the infirmed, confused self-loathing that plagued Remus’ soul. He had never realised how hard Remus was on himself until he had met Greyback.

 

 “You did that to him,” Harry murmured, his voice devoid of emotion and still husky from arousal he could not dismiss at will.

 “Yes,” Greyback said, his words just as impassive. “And I’d take it back if I could.”

 

 Harry’s head flew back round and he stared up at Greyback in shock. “Would you?”

 

 Greyback’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, pet,” he replied simply, the nip to the next toe slightly appraising but Harry thought he knew what thoughts were lurking behind those darkening blue eyes. He didn’t want Harry to end up living a half-life of self-hatred like Remus. Harry didn’t know what to think of that.

 

 Suddenly Greyback lapped with tickling decisiveness at the sole of his foot, before leaning down again, grinding his nose into the hard bulge pressing against Harry’s trousers. He inhaled deeply, sniffing hungrily at his cock. Harry flushed in mortification, slamming his eyes shut again and swallowed a gasp.

 

 That nose nuzzled into him harder. He could feel that smile against his cock, a wicked expression that was his only warning before those lips opened and hot, damp limps mouthed his erection. “No!” Harry almost wailed, his eyes clenching shut tight and his face turning to the side, burying into the furs. A chuckle rushed over his ears and that mouth moved over him more firmly, sucking him through his trousers, caressing his balls with those lips.

 “One day you can do this for me,” Greyback muttered, voice heady and thick with lust. He growled purposefully around his mouthful of Harry’s clothed genitals and Harry shuddered. The image of him on his knees as he had been the day before yesterday, with Greyback’s thick, heavy erection against his lips made his arse twitch. He groaned despite himself, his hips humping Greyback’s face with increasing urgency.

 

 Greyback’s large hand replaced his mouth, palming Harry through the soaked garment as his lips skimmed his belly again. His chin was _just_ touching Harry’s pubic bone, hovering above his needy prick. “And one day I’ll fill this scrawny belly of yours,” he growled wantonly, mouthing Harry’s flat, taut stomach as the pressure of his hand increased. “I’ll make it nice and round – I’ll breed you so good boy.”

 

 The material of Harry’s trousers felt scratchy. The hard pressure of that palm was hot and maddening. But it was those _words_ that got to him most. Those words whispered so decadently and crudely against his skin, so that he felt that rough voice vibrate through his innards. They made his body arch and his lips fly open around a cry of urgent bliss.

 

 Greyback gave a rough bark of a laugh. Yanking Harry’s trousers down roughly, he tossed them to the side to be forgotten and seized Harry’s slick, leaking cock with his thick fingers. Unrelentingly he squeezed and pumped his throbbing organ. He grazed Harry’s happy trail with his mouth, tugging at the smattering of light hair there with his lips. “And when that’s done I’ll spread you wide, make you take me deep and scream my name with my hands on your loaded belly.”

 

 Why was this turning him on? He was so fucked up. His cock was weeping pearly, clear fluid at the mention of such debauched things. Greyback’s rough fingers were slick with his pre-emission now and they stroked him firmly before tugging his foreskin back to expose his pink head. He blew on it purposefully and then sniffed at him as if the liquid flowing from him carried the most delectable scent.

 “You’re making me hard, pet, but this is for you, not me,” Greyback panted, rubbing the thin line of flesh that joined Harry’s foreskin to that special place just under his helmet. Just the way Harry liked. “I don’t pamper or indulge anyone else, boy – _enjoy it,_ ” he breathed and with a final wicked tug on the little line of flesh he leant down, taking Harry into his mouth.

 

 It was wet and hot. That tongue swiped at the sensitive tip and the underside of Harry’s swollen cock with every bob of Greyback’s head. His face pressed deep into Harry’s pubic hair whenever he moved down, his lips making deliciously torturous suction around the head when he pulled up. Fenrir Greyback was sucking his cock!

 

  _And it feels so good,_ his mind supplied as he rolled his hips up without care, thrusting his cock deep into Greyback’s throat. The werewolf growled in appreciation around his mouthful, clearly delighting in every sensation. He sucked harder when Harry flexed his hips to draw a myriad of whining groans from Harry’s lips.

 

 Harry could _feel_ his delight – it was palpable. He could taste it on his tongue as he gasped for air. One clawed hand rolled his bollocks in a large palm, gently manipulating him even as the mouth above it worked him with harsh passion. It was rough and unrelenting and hot – everything that Greyback was himself.

 

 The werewolf’s other hand slid down, the pad of his rough thumb teasing Harry’s puckered entrance, tight but swollen from use. Spittle had leaked down from where Greyback was now slathering his cock with desire and lubricated the teasing massage of his bundle of nerves. How could such a conniving, selfish, evil bastard be so attentive and passionate? Harry’s control shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

 

 “Oh, so good! So good…fucking…good… _fuck me_!” he groaned throatily without really thinking on his words as they left him. It was just sound, growling, desperate whining. That was all he could do to release his thrill.

 

 Greyback growled around his prick again, the sweetly sinful vibrations carrying through the turgid column of flesh. Harry’s body was wrought with spasms now; he was shaking and crying out in rhythmic gratification. He had never felt so hot, so filled with pleasure, nor felt so desired. He had never been at the centre of someone else’s world and it was terrifying and wonderful all at once. He was dizzy with it all.

 

 Heart hammering in his chest, Harry sank his teeth into his fingers to silence himself and any further humiliating exclamations of ecstasy. Greyback growled again in response and the hand manipulating his twitching his entrance so wonderfully reached up and snatched Harry’s hand away, tugging it down to force Harry’s fingers to do what Greyback’s had been doing beforehand.

 

 Grasping Harry’s hand, he circled that hot ring of muscles with Harry’s fingers instead of his own now. They dipped in, encircling, flicking across the centre, dipping in again before forcing the tip of Harry’s index finger _just_ deep enough to scrape his pleasure zone buried inside.

 

 Harry’s head flew back into the furs and he screamed then. “Shit!” Harry exclaimed, tossing his head back, his body bowing. His hips flexed back and forth without his permission now, fast and hard. “C-Cant–!”

 

 An encouraging rumble around his cock was his answer and Harry glanced down with blurry vision. His belly went over when he saw those large white teeth exposed in a feral smirk around his prick and he thrust up automatically, bursting like a cracked dam down Greyback’s purposefully constricting throat.

 

 

 

 Greyback swallowed his mate’s seed gladly, the taste musky and light on his tongue. He sucked at the softening organ until he had sucked the boy dry of every last drop and a whining sound of discomfort shuddered through those semi-conscious lips. Drawing back, he licked his mouth. His boy was perfect in every way, except his irritating sense of duty, selflessness and his too-skinny limbs of course. The thought that he’d have to ensure he ate enough to fill his frame briefly crossed his mind as he sat back on his haunches, staring down at the body of his mate. He was sprawled limply across the furs, eyes closed, his slender chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

 

 Fenrir was in awe of him. Never before had he, Fenrir Greyback rutted with a lover purely to seek his partner’s satisfaction and ignored his own. On the contrary, he had always loved responsive partners but he had always been selfish with his pleasure and had certainly never derived his own purely from bringing another to orgasm. His boy was certainly a gift, one in a million.

 

 “And all mine,” he murmured to himself, reaching across to brush those dark sweaty locks from his mate’s forehead. The scar stood out like a beacon of disaster on that pale flesh and his thumb swept across it soothingly before he stood up. He seized the fur cloak he had discarded from his mate’s body earlier and dropped it over the now dozing form.

 

 The boy was getting even more worked up and anxious about things because their bond remained incomplete. Fenrir could feel the wrongness of their incomplete union in his very skin. _He needed a good fucking to unleash some of those denied instincts,_ he thought, crossing to the door and opening it. As he did, however, the boy stirred, yet his eyes remained closed.

 

 “Why do you all seem to care so much about me?” the boy asked quietly and Fenrir’s brow furrowed. It was true, it had been but a few days but so much had happened and both circumstance and instincts had hastened the process of them getting better acquainted with one another.

 

 “The pack is mostly made up of turned werewolves, only a few of us here were born into it. They know what you’re going through, they empathise with you,” he explained. “And it’s my job to take care of you, you’re mine and let’s face it, you need me.”

 

 For a moment or two the boy said nothing in answer, and then…

 

 “If you gave a shit about me at all you’ll let me go,” that quiet voice whispered and Fenrir heard the unspoken addition of ‘It’ll kill me if anyone else dies because I couldn’t save them.’ The boy didn’t need to say it aloud, he’d alluded to it enough earlier; Fenrir could feel it rolling off of him in waves.

 

 “It’s because I give a shit that I can’t let you,” Fenrir said, and a bitter smirk touched his lips. “You’re lucky I value your life more than your opinion of me.” The boy could pout and sulk and claim to hate him all he wished, he _wasn’t_ going to rush off like some headstrong cub and get himself killed.

 

 Fenrir stepped over the threshold, pausing with his hand on the door. “I made a promise to you and I keep my promises,” he reminded him, not for the first nor last time and closed the door behind him, stepping out into the afternoon sun. Why he was wasting so much time on the boy’s comfort when he seemed determined to be miserable, Fenrir wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the scent of his melancholy left a bad taste in his mouth. It was part of his instincts and their bond, he knew this of course, but he hadn’t expected it to be so… _potent_.

 

 He had not walked a few feet from the door when he saw Weylyn, Larentia and Marrok lugging their kill to the nearby courtyard area where the cooking fire was already building. Usually the adults shared the hunting and food preparation duties, but taking on the responsibility was a common punishment for wrongdoers. “You three,” he barked at them, watching with amusement as their attention snapped up from skinning the meaty stag they had caught. They wisely kept their faces respectfully downturned; evidently realising they had not earned their forgiveness yet.

 

  _And will not for some time,_ Fenrir thought, sneering visibly at them. “We’ll hold a celebration feast in my mate’s honour,” he said, noting that while the two males remained impassive, Larentia had an odd look in her eyes.

 

 “The bitches want to welcome him, Alpha?” she asked stiffly, as if the term ‘bitches’ (meaning the subs in the pack) did not also apply to her.

 

 “We hold a feast for any newcomer,” he reminded her bluntly. She would end up serving a far longer punishment sentence than Marrok and Weylyn, he thought, she still held far too much bite in her voice. “I’ll give you three days to prepare, the best, is that clear?” he snarled. All three nodded at this, but he felt Larentia deserved another task.

 

 “My mate needs clothes, the better quality you bring me the shorter your punishment is likely to be,” he considered her briefly, before adding, “don’t disappoint me again, Larentia.”

 

 Inclining her head a fraction so as to see his expression but not look him directly in the eyes, Larentia asked innocently, _enquiringly_ , “He’s a breeder; do you require maternity wear also, Alpha?”

 

 Fenrir’s face remained unaffected. “That won’t be necessary, no,” he said, not knowing what to think of the fact that her mood seemed to improve on hearing his answer.

 

 “I will fetch him the best that Shae can offer,” she said brightly, before returning to tend to the stag along with Marrok and Weylyn. Fenrir watched her carefully for a moment longer, certain that he knew less and less about subs with each passing day. They were so fickle…

 

 “How fares your new mate, Alpha?” an approaching voice asked and Fenrir turned, offering Echo a smirk. The wolf was roughly the same age as him, yet the years Fenrir had spent in Azkaban had aged him more than his beta – though he still didn’t look his age. Echo was still youthful in appearance, his eyes the only betraying factor, shining knowingly as they looked on him. He was perhaps his most trusted friend in their pack and so it was amusing that even after all these years his beta (a man he had tussled with as a cub) still called him ‘Alpha’ as opposed to his given name.

 

 “He’s…difficult,” Fenrir grunted, glancing back to the closed oak door before tipping his head skyward, embracing the sun on his stubbly face as if it held the answers to his problems. “I’m used to the violent mood-swings, many of the younglings we’ve brought into the pack have reacted oddly at first but with him it’s… _different_.” He didn’t like to admit it but this _was_ different, because his instincts were snarling at him brutally for allowing his mate to remain so… _distressed_. He was his mate now, he had sworn himself to him under the moon – he should fix it!

_That and the moon is bearing down on me for not earning his mark,_ a voice at the back of Fenrir’s mind whispered. Just then, he felt Echo’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked into that face framed by short, unruly bronze hair. “He’s a fiery one, that’s why he suits you so well but it also means you’ll have to be even more patient with him. He’s not the standard sub, or even the standard breeder, if there could be such a thing,” Echo said with a smile. “He reminds me of Shae.”

 

 Fenrir snorted at that to hide his discomfort, but he too had held the same thought just earlier that morning. “He’s got a temper on him, pride and stubbornness–”

 

 “Those are probably the main reasons you were drawn to him,” Echo smirked. “You didn’t give him much of a courting period, you’ll have to be patient and help him settle in. He’ll come to feel more at home here the better he gets to know you, the sub in him is probably wary of so much _newness_ and all at once.”

 

 Fenrir nodded thoughtfully, this was why they made such a good pack. While he, Fenrir was not exactly renowned for his thinking skills (more for his ruthlessness and brute strength than anything else) Echo was wise enough for the both of them. He _had_ wanted to give the boy more of a ‘courting period’ but circumstance and the proximity of Conall and his mutts had driven them together quicker than expected.

 

 “You know who he is, don’t you, Echo?” he asked gruffly, watching the sun begin its slow descent beyond the edge of the mountain that protected them.

 

 “It would appear that you took _The Chosen One, Saviour of the Wizarding World_ as your mate, Alpha,” Echo replied. Fenrir could hear the barely concealed amusement in his voice. “You’ll have to tell me how you managed to spirit him away from Tergarletum. Rumour had it that he’d captured the boy.”

 

 Fenrir nodded. “Later,” he promised, before continuing with what he wanted to say. “The boy has been raised to kill _Him._ ”

 

 All amusement in Echo’s voice vanished. “He will die before he gets close enough, Tergarletum ensured everyone knew what the boy was suffering while he was held captive. It was all over that wizard newspaper of theirs.” Echo winced. “So that is why he would not bind himself to you fully? He feels bound to this prescribed destiny of killing _Him_?”

 

 Fenrir growled. It was not pleasant to know that Echo (and the rest of the pack) could smell that Harry had not bitten him back, had refused to finalise their bond. It was the ultimate humiliation for any werewolf, much less the alpha! “He was captured by _Him_ while he was with his friends,” he said, trying to shake off the irritation, the voice in his head telling him to storm back into the den and _force_ the boy to complete their binding. “The friends escaped, I want you to send Lupa and Hemming to them – they were so far up each other’s arses that they’re ripe with Harry’s scent, they shouldn’t be hard to find.”

 

 Echo raised a brow, “Alpha?” he asked, seemingly confused.

 

 “The boy wants them to know he’s safe. Tell them to let them know he’s alright but not where he is.” Yes, Lupa had been a changeling of his father’s and Hemming was probably as loyal as they came. They were good choices. “Tell them to help them in any way necessary without revealing to _Him_ that we’re doing it.”

 

 Echo was staring at him carefully, as if trying to decipher the reasons behind this. “You hope if you send two of our best out to help his friends with this quest, Harry will be less inclined to run away?”

 

 Fenrir snorted. “He can run all he wants, he won’t get far from me,” he muttered. “But it might stop him from giving out these…these bloody waves of misery. They’re driving me mad!”

 

  “Ah, and here I was thinking that Fenrir Greyback was doing something selfless just to please his new young mate?” Echo murmured, an air of playfulness in his deep voice. Fenrir glared. He did _not_ appreciate being teased and his expression quickly snuffed the sound from Echo’s voice when the man continued. “It’s natural, you’re still courting in a sense since your bond is incomplete. Your instincts understand you better than you do, you know that, Alpha. If you and Harry both listen to them first and foremost, that is the quickest way for you both to find happiness.”

 

 Fenrir opened his mouth to speak, but as he did so, the wind whisked across the glade, ushering a sweet scent into his nostrils. He turned on the spot and saw the boy watching him from the doorway, clearly eavesdropping. Oddly enough, despite the disrespectfulness of the notion however, Fenrir didn’t care. _Let the boy see I keep my promises, that he can and_ must _rely on me in this stupid war…_

“I will give Lupa and Hemming their orders now, Sir,” Echo murmured, breaking the odd silence that had fallen. He gave both Harry and Fenrir a small respectful bow and then departed, leaving Harry and Fenrir staring at each other. The boy looked thoughtful, clearly contemplating something. Fenrir, meanwhile, did not welcome the fact that still he had to court the boy, despite the fact that he’d come undone beneath him more than once now. It was like taking two steps forward and one step back.

 

 Yes, subs were fickle. How many times did he have to seduce him? He frowned. He’d never had to really seduce his partners before. They had all rolled happily beneath him – _him,_ Fenrir Greyback, powerful and insidious. This boy was different, he required more than a tumble in the grass or two to win over. _Because he’s worth more than that,_ a voice whispered. _And that makes you want him more, makes you relish his surrender more because it’s that much harder to win._

 

 He’d always thought he knew all there was to know about taking a mate.

 

 He knew it was because of their incomplete bond that he felt so… _peculiar_ , but knowing the source did not help to appease his frustration any. He held the boy’s gaze for a moment longer, before turning away. He needed to unleash his tension on something else. He needed a run or something – anything so that he would not go back to the boy with this frustration. If he did, he might say or do something he would regret. _Like fuck him into the ground like he begged me to,_ he thought gruffly, knowing full well that the brat would have bawled like a child with self-loathing afterwards, as if laying beneath him was something to be ashamed of.

 

 He snarled under his breath, his frustration increasing the more he thought on it. The boy would be the exposure of his barely leashed temper, he was sure of it. Was this what his parents had gone through? What every mated pair endured? Was it because the boy was a bearer or simply because he was Harry Potter? Fenrir grumbled in irritation. He had a feeling it was both.

 

 The boy was the biggest pain in the arse he had ever taken into his pack, was the only one to give him such lip, such trouble. _And yet all you can think about is heading back there and having another tumble across the den floor._

_Shut up!_ He admonished, shoving Weylyn aside and taking his place in skinning and gutting the stag. Yes, ripping the flesh and innards from something was the perfect solution to unleashing his rage.

 

*                      *                      *

 

 Greyback didn’t return to the den after Harry had retreated back into it and Harry hadn’t ventured back out, not even when he heard the voice of the she-wolf from earlier, Amoux calling him to dinner. The light from the columns reaching from floor to ceiling had dimmed a fraction, the opalescent glimmering walls sparkling soothingly as Harry lay sprawled across the plush seating area by the fire.

 

 Greyback had kept his word (or had appeared to at least) and had dispatched two of his finest to let Ron and Hermione know he was safe, to help them. _But not to let them know where you are,_ his mind supplied. Oh yes, Greyback had been very careful to specify that. So what would happen now? Would Ron and Hermione figure it out anyway? It had been said over and over that Hermione wasthe brightest witch of her age, he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t figure it out. But even if she did, they couldn’t find the den without a pack member’s aid.

 His head hurt with all the possibilities and his empty belly churned angrily with the unknown. Greyback may have kept his word but he was still a murderer, had still forced him here and all his good deeds seemed to be done only for his own gain. _He wants me to spread my legs willingly, like I did earlier,_ he thought wretchedly, curling his hands into fists, digging his nails spitefully into his own palms.

 

 It hadn’t been just the instincts and hormones, he _had_ _enjoyed_ what Greyback did to him earlier. Even he had to admit (to himself if not aloud) that it had been the best he had ever felt. _I have to get out of here before I forget who I am completely._ He must have dozed at some point, because when he awoke the noise of a happy meal outside had died, along with the painfully delicious smells of food and when Harry pushed the door open a fraction, he found the outside valley deserted.

 

 The world was bathed in ethereal moonlight beyond the den. It was still except for the willow swaying gently with the breeze in a slow dance. He’d re-dressed himself and was glad for the fur cloak around his shoulders as the cool night hit him the moment he stepped outside.

 

 The doors to the other dens were shut, the fire at the centre of the courtyard area had died and the only brightness lighting his way came from the skies above. All the better for escaping, he thought. He crept across the dell with quietness and skill that not even years of sneaking around Hogwarts could have given him. It was the werewolf blood one of his parents had unwittingly passed down that aided him now.

 

 Harry could feel the way the ground shifted under his feet, the way the wind hit him and his body adapted to move against it all soundlessly. Was this what Greyback had meant when he’d said he’d come into his ‘werewolf powers’? He didn’t feel stronger really, but certainly more adept, more nimble. He didn’t know that he liked that he was changing but if it helped him to escape tonight…

 

 Making his way over to the gate he and Greyback had stepped through earlier, he found it (oddly) without a guard. He inhaled the air deeply, but the surroundings were so full of scents that his growing senses were unable to tell if anyone was nearby. He spied the blossom that the beta wolf, Echo had plucked from the vines, which were again wrapped like chains around the impenetrable wooden gates. Would it react somehow to his touch? Or was it as Greyback had said, he was part of the pack now? There was only one way to tell, he supposed.

 

 Leaning up on his tiptoes with an arm outstretched, Harry _just_ managed to skim the blossom with his fingertips. Suddenly, movement behind him sent him whirling around on instinct, bringing him face to face with the bronze-haired beta wolf himself. _Shit._ He’d been caught!

 

 Unreadable blue eyes were focused on his face calculatingly and though Echo only stood a few inches above his own height, Harry could not help but feel that he was still as intimidating as Greyback and the other, bulkier wolves. Harry shifted slightly, trying not to betray his unease. Perhaps it was the sub in him but he felt the need to move back, move back and yet raise his chin and demand submission at the same time. He was the alpha’s bitch but the union wasn’t fully bound. It almost physically hurt it was so confusing. He felt torn. He didn’t know what to do.

 

 Caught between the two instincts, those of an alpha numero and those of a sub, he snapped his head to the side, wincing in pain. What _was_ this unbearable confusion in his chest? It was like someone was crushing his lungs! He couldn’t breathe properly. It was as if the airways of a sub and alpha moved in two different ways and until he knew which he was, he would remain poised like this on the edge of both. _Torn._

 

 “I can’t let you go,” Echo said, his voice low and calm. His eyes shone darkly in the night. The moon illuminated his tanned face and Harry could not see any expression or mood there. It was completely vacant. His skin tingled oddly, unpleasantly. He was both unmated and mated at once, another source of disorientating confusion…

 

 Grinding his teeth together determinedly, he forced himself to face the werewolf again and barked out harshly, “well I’m not bloody going back!” He dropped unceremoniously to the floor and laid back against mountainside, saying clearly with his body that he wasn’t moving from that spot. To his surprise, rather than haul him to his feet and drag him back, Echo merely watched him, the smooth line of his mouth cracking into a small smile.

 

 “Well, I’d best keep you company then,” he said conversationally, sitting down a few feet from Harry in the same slightly inclined position, his back against the wall of the mountain. The werewolf turned his head skyward, staring at the stars with placid contemplation radiating from him in waves. He looked so content and at peace with himself and the world. Harry envied him.

 

 “Where’s Greyback?” Harry asked cautiously. It was odd that the bastard hadn’t come back to the den; he’d never left him out of his sight for too long before if he could help it. But perhaps the fact that his pack, his spies would prevent Harry from leaving allowed him to continue about his daily activities. _He’d already gotten what he wanted from me earlier anyway,_ Harry thought bitterly. Except, he hadn’t really, had he? Greyback hadn’t come at all earlier; it’d been him, Harry that’d had all the pleasure. His throat tightened treacherously at the thought.  Why hadn’t the git asked for anything in return? Or _taken_ it even, as was in his character?

 

 “The Alpha is sleeping in my den, I have enough room, being a bachelor,” Echo answered, his voice polite and kind yet devoid of emotion. “He decided to board in my den to give you some… _space_ on your first night. Newcomers to the pack often need some time to adjust. Some require more than others.”

 

 Harry frowned, thoughtful. That didn’t sound like Greyback, wanting to give him space. The arse wanted him and he would do anything to get it. _Include leave you alone to try and lull you into a false sense of security and pounce on you when you least expect it,_ his mind supplied. Harry’s jaw tensed. “Do you get many newcomers?” he asked, trying to shove that errant image from his mind. He didn’t know why, but he liked Echo.

 

 He reminded him of Dumbledore in a strange way, calm and collected, slight of frame but clearly powerful underneath. He seemed worldly, as if he could look into your eyes and see every thought you had ever possessed, as if he knew the answer to every question, the solution to all suffering. It was a comfort to have him there somehow, a similar being to the person he wished he could talk to most right now.

 

 “Not many,” Echo answered, dragging Harry back from his reverie. “Every few years we get a new arrival, Amoux’s adopted son, Vilkas – the boy you met earlier, he was our latest before you. He was left on the step of an orphanage in a muggle town a few hours from here.” He turned his knowing blue eyes to Harry then, as if he knew what Harry thought they were. “We don’t snatch children from their beds. We adopt the abandoned, the abused and the lost.”

 

 Harry looked away quickly, he didn’t want to be rude to Echo. “I wasn’t any of those things,” he muttered wretchedly, wishing he had never said Voldemort’s stupid bloody name and brought the snatchers down on them. He grit his teeth so tightly he swore he felt them creak. “Even if Remus was a mistake, even if he didn’t steal the others, Greyback still forced me into this,” he snapped vehemently.

 

 Echo considered him for a moment, then spoke softly, as if to a startled animal. “Perhaps though his intentions may have been selfish to start, we can both appreciate that he rescued you from all three of those things? Things sometimes have a way of turning out alright, even if they don’t start as such,” he said warmly, turning his gaze back to the stars once more.

 

 As he lifted his head skyward again, however, Harry watched the moonlight streak across a long, jagged, angry looking scar that ran all the way down his face. He had not noticed before, it was almost hidden by his hair. Harry quickly glanced away, knowing what it felt like to have a disfigurement that everyone stared at. He patted his fringe down flat over his scar distractedly. That messy mar on Echo’s otherwise handsome face, it looked magical, looked as if it must have been painful…

 

 “The night some of _His_ death eaters got into Hogwarts, the night Albus Dumbledore died, that’s when I got this scar – the Alpha and I were asked to…back them up.” His face twisted with distaste. “The Alpha was heading up the astronomy tower with the death eaters. I was guarding the stairwell with a few others and some wizards tried to get past us.” He shook his head fractionally, as if recalling the whole horrid affair.

 

 “It was frenzied. One of the death eaters beside me lunged, the wizard he was aiming at – some red-headed boy struck out and hit me instead.” Echo turned to look at him then, a meaningful look in his eyes. “There was so much blood, I’m not sure what happened after that but I remember the Alpha’s reaction. He tore that boy to shreds…”

 

 It was as if a bucket of ice had plummeted in Harry's stomach. His throat clenched tight. He felt sick. Moistening his suddenly dry lips with his tongue, he breathed slowly for a moment before searching for his words. “He did,” he whispered, knowing immediately what had happened. “The bloke who Greyback attacked, he was my best mate’s brother, Bill Weasley – he’s alive and…well he’s sort of like me now. He has…symptoms but he isn’t really a werewolf.”

 

 Echo’s face twisted a little, as if he couldn’t quite understand. “But you’re mistaken, there are very few like you in the world. You’re a rare gift to our kind–”

 

 “Right,” Harry interrupted him, shifting uncomfortably. “I know, because I can have your kids and no one else can. I’m the only one who is immune to the werewolf venom, so even if Greyback bites or scratches me I won’t change and I can share my body with a werewolf pup without being turned as well.”

 

 He knew this now, he’d heard it enough from Greyback, he really didn’t want to think about it. Even if he had been head over heels in love with Greyback he wasn’t sure he’d have wanted to carry a child inside him. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He didn’t think he could do that.

 

 Echo smiled softly, seeming to understand. “Werewolves have cubs, not pups,” he mused good-naturedly. “But yes, I know what you meant and I’m relieved to know he lives. I didn’t like to think of such a young life snuffed out all because Fenrir Greyback’s beta got caught in the crossfire.”

 

 Harry frowned and he spoke before he could stop himself, “But I thought magic didn’t affect you as much?”

 

 Echo continued to smile. “It doesn’t affect werewolves as much, no. Had I been human I would have probably died from the blood loss. Despite my stature, you’ll find my body is just as durable as a wolf of the Alpha’s size.” He gazed at Harry thoughtfully again, seeing straight through him it seemed. “I couldn’t help but notice how surprised you looked when the Alpha told you I was the beta.”

 

 Harry couldn’t help it, his eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably again, flushing slightly. He’d been caught out. “You’re not…I mean… Well I was surprised to see that you were the beta but that’s only because Greyback and the head of that group of rogues we ran into were both huge. I s’pose size doesn’t err…matter when you’re a werewolf?” He couldn’t help but feel his skin flush darker at the insinuation, especially as Greyback had been huge in _that_ sense as well…

 

“It's more to do with confidence and strength of character,” Echo grinned, seeming to be struggling to hide his own embarrassment at Harry’s unwitting innuendo. “It so happens that our omega is one of the biggest in our pack. You met him earlier, I believe?”

 

 Harry’s brow remained creased for a moment, then his eyes widened impossibly. That huge dark-skinned man he had seen earlier? How could that be?

 

 “Marrok has a very yielding, easy-going personality,” Echo added by way of explanation, evidently amused by Harry’s shock at that revelation. Harry sighed in frustration, closing his eyes and feeling the soft, humming sensation that swept through his skin as the moon bathed him with its light. He was becoming more attune to nature, he thought. Was that what Greyback had meant by coming into his powers?

 

 “Nothing here is what I thought it would be,” he murmured, mostly to himself. He heard Echo smile.

 

 “I imagine not,” he replied softly, allowing a moment of silence to hang between them before he added, “But still you try to leave us the first chance you get.” It wasn’t a question, it was a soft yet unyielding statement. 

 

 Opening his eyes, Harry stared out across the sleepy glade that had been full of children and laughter earlier. After years of neglect, danger and now a burden that he was far from ready to face, this valley seemed like paradise. This ‘pack’ was just like a family, the one he had never had and it left a bitter taste in his mouth that it was being flaunted before his eyes – so close yet just out of reach. He could _not_ stay here.

 

 “Among other things, I could never forgive myself if others died when I’m the only one who can stop him,” he said simply, tired of justifying himself. Why should he _have_ to justify himself? “You’re wolves, you must know loyalty?” he demanded. He received a small nod from Echo and continued. “Well then you know it’s…it’s abhorrent, the thought of leaving someone you love behind to die. My friends are all out there fighting for this cause. I _won’t_ just stay hidden up here, spread my legs and play happy families with a child snatching monster while they drop like flies for me!” His voice had risen now and his breathing had deepened with fury.

 

 Echo remained calm as ever, although his raised brows did betray a flicker of surprise at his outburst.

 

 “We know loyalty, Harry,” Echo said after an elongated silence, staring into him with those intrusively knowing eyes. “And to us, allowing you to run off and be captured or killed would cause us the same wretched pain. We feel responsible for you as you feel responsible for them, that is why we cannot let you go.”

 

 Harry shook his head. “You’ve known me for five minutes! And Greyback has known me for not even a week! It’s hardly the same–”

 

 “Whether it’s been five years or five days you are our family now,” Echo interrupted, his warm, smooth voice silencing Harry the same way Dumbledore’s used to.

 

Harry growled under his breath, unaware that he was mimicking one of Greyback’s traits. “Why does he want me so bloody much anyway if he hates wizards?” Harry snarled venomously, glaring in the direction he could sense Greyback’s presence. That was something that had grown along with his other senses, the ability to feel when Greyback was nearby. He cringed at the thought, wondering when (if) he finally got away from here, he would ever truly be able to escape him…

 

 “I don’t know that he _hates_ wizards,” Echo said. “I believe it’s more that he is wary of them. When he was about the age you are now, our pack was enjoying themselves outside the walls of our home here,” he gestured to the valley, an edge of bitter, dejected anger creeping into his normally composed voice. “We had the misfortune to come across ‘The Hunt’ – a group of Ministry officials that sought out werewolf packs and cut them back like rogue weeds.”

 

 Harry was stunned into silence, unable to look away from that suddenly emotive face so torn with bone-deep anger and sadness. It was the kind of expression he had seen on Neville’s face whenever he spoke of Bellatrix Lestrange’s torture of his parents. And suddenly he knew why these people, this family hid themselves away in the mountain, in magic and peace.

_Some wizards are just as evil as some werewolves_ , he thought, as Echo continued.

 

 “There used to be lots of breeders like you, Harry,” he said, “including the Alpha’s mother. But The Hunt were good at what they did and ours was but _one_ of the many packs desecrated by their cruelty and fear.”

 

 Harry could believe that, he’d seen first hand how fear turned even the best of men into monsters. Voldemort himself had started all of this because he was afraid of death and weakness…

 

 “Our pack used to be much larger than this,” Echo continued. “The Hunt massacred them all and the Alpha’s parents, his brothers and sister all died. I suppose that’s why he’s as… _mercurial_ as he is.”

 

 Harry stared at him. The foul-tempered, boisterous, spiteful brute he’d seen earlier, had he truly been so…hurt? It would explain a lot about his ways, his hatred of wizards and the fact that his longing for a family seemed to match Harry's with frightening fervour. Harry swallowed. He did not like the way his thoughts were drifting, nor the way his chest clenched tight at the thought of what a horrible ordeal it must have been, to watch his entire family be butchered before his very eyes.

 

 “But he did bite children!” Harry insisted, his voice not as committed as he would’ve liked it to be.

 

 Echo scoffed at that. “The subs in our pack can’t have their own young so we find orphans, runaways, abused children or even babies left on doorsteps and bring them home with us, bring them–”

 

 “Bring them into a world they may not want to be a part of,” Harry murmured. “You make them werewolves, they don’t get a choice.”

 

 “They get a loving home they may not get elsewhere,” Echo said simply. “That is our ‘child-snatching’ and perhaps it seems wrong to others, but the children are happy here, this is a good life we give them, Harry, you saw that for yourself today. Each one would rather have this life, the life of a werewolf than go back to living as a human in neglect.” He paused, considering Harry carefully yet again. “Please, if you hold any other misconceptions or fears about our life here then allow me to lay them to rest for you – every newcomer has questions when they first come here.”

 

 Harry glanced away determinedly, gazing back into the darkness without really looking at anything. He felt so lost, was that because of his incomplete bond with Greyback or was that merely exacerbating the feelings he already had? He wanted to go home, except he had no home to return to. He wanted to return to Ron and Hermione and yet this family here wanted desperately to keep him here – to protect him.

 

 No one’s soul purpose had ever been to protect him, to keep him happy and safe, there had always been ulterior motives, or something more important – even with Dumbledore. He had to get away from here before his treacherous longing and instincts got too out of hand. Before he lost sight of the big picture and himself.

 

 “You must know Greyback better than anyone,” Harry murmured, his improved eyesight finding imaginary shapes in the darkness. Echo said nothing, but Harry was sure he _felt_ him nod. “I suppose you want me to stay with him?” Harry asked.

 

 “I want Fenrir and the rest of the pack to be safe and happy,” Echo replied, saying Greyback’s name for the first time in Harry’s hearing. Harry got the impression he didn’t say it very often.

 

 “But what makes Greyback happy will probably not make me to be happy,” Harry muttered into the night.

 

 “Never say never,” Echo said simply.

 

 A harsh breeze rushed through the glade and Harry shuddered, thinking longingly of the den without realising. It was warm in there, dimly lit and safe. His instincts liked that, the neglected child in him longed for it. Slowly, Harry got to his feet, realising that tonight’s escape would have to be postponed until a better opportunity presented itself.

 

 Perhaps Ron and Hermione would figure out a way to get to him, but he couldn’t just sit tight and wait for them. Who knew what the empathy he felt growing for Greyback could morph into if he remained trapped here for too long. He was afraid of the feelings brewing inside, like a flickering flame waiting to burst into an inferno, he would have no hope of conquering once it broke out.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	7. Monsters and Men

A/N: So, quite a domestic chapter here - as domestic as Fenrir Greyback gets anyway ;) Harry is biding his time and plotting...

 

Calm before the storm you might say. 'Ghost' was named after Jon Snow's direwolf in Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire. Although my 'Ghost' isn't quite so fierce. Poor mite. Enjoy :)

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

.: Chapter Seven :.

Monsters and Men

 

 

 

 Fenrir kept away from his den all of the next day, both because he was not in the mood to deal with the boy’s moping and because he felt their bond might benefit from some space. Sleeping in Echo’s den instead of his own had not helped Fenrir’s own mood, however, nor did the fact that he could _hear_ some of the pack whispering that he, Fenrir Greyback, the alpha had been kept out of his own den by a stripling sub.

 

 Newcomers usually required some time to adjust but never had they been permitted to disrespect their alpha in such a way. The whispers made his scalp prickle all day, fouling his mood so that by the time late evening drew in, he’d decided the only way to eradicate the fiery frustration was to drown it in a bath. His own bath.

 

 Pausing at the door to his den, he reprimanded himself for even _considering_ knocking and stormed in. It was warm inside and illuminated by the sunshine from the columns. But the boy was nowhere in sight. He stormed across the room, brushing aside the hangings around the bed to find that empty as well. Where the hell was he? What was this feeling roaring up inside him? Panic? Worry? It was a feeling that had not plagued him since…

 

 Fenrir shook his head to eradicate the memories of that day and strode towards the only unchecked area of the den, the separate cove where the hot spring pool lay. “Boy?” he snarled, calling out to him as he marched through the archway. Soft furls of steam rose from the pool, a bath carved out from the floor made smooth and kind to the skin. The water was clear but foaming slightly with its heat and there in the middle, chest-deep in water was his glorious, if a bit skinny, mate.

 

 Relief and irritation spiralled inside him all at once and he grunted in irritation at both feelings, striding forwards and coming to stand the side of the pool. The boy had whirled around in surprise at his voice and was now staring up at him, his hands flying down to hide his assets, despite the protection the foaming water gave him.

 

 “Don’t call me boy!” His mate roared back, sinking down in the pool until only his head was visible. His glasses weren’t fogging up with the steam (due to a spell integrated into the lenses long ago, no doubt) and so he was free to scowl up at Fenrir, who glowered back, not in the mood to deal with his insolence today. “My Uncle called me that, _barked_ it at me more like and I hate it. Don’t call me that.” He turned in the water, making his way to the side. Fenrir thought he might try to climb out but he stopped, seeming to remember Fenrir was there and turned to face him again.

 

 Fenrir circled the pool until he was close to him again and bent down on his haunches to look at him. The heat of the spring had flushed that honey-hued flesh nicely. Now that the boy had stood, he could see that his far too slender torso was nice and pink. The water was lapping at it as he himself longed to. Fenrir licked his lips at the thought, his frustration ebbing away into the first flickers of arousal.

 

 Oh, the boy did know how to squirm just right beneath him. It had surprised Fenrir how pleasurable it had been simply to give the boy pleasure. This boy was a revelation to his senses, his world and while part of him was frustrated the other was eager for another taste. He inhaled deeply, basking in the scent until he found the faintest flicker of another interrupting the boy’s delicious musk.

 

 Narrowing his eyes, Fenrir grasped the edge of the pool with his long, thick fingers, his claws digging into the rock. “You have Echo’s scent on you, it’s _just_ there. You saw him briefly. Didn’t you?”

 

 The boy’s face tightened, but otherwise he received no reply.

 

 Fenrir grated his teeth together. “Now why would my mate who balks at the sight of me even after coming spectacularly underneath me, spend time with my beta?”

 

 “I didn’t intend to,” Harry replied tersely. “I went for a walk last night and he came across me. You’d be able to smell it if I’d done anything more.”

 

  _And if you were lying,_ Fenrir’s mind supplied, which he could tell the boy wasn’t – although he _was_ being evasive. With a cocky smirk, Fenrir shrugged out of his loose trousers, swinging his legs out so that he was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hanging in the hot water.

 

 Immediately, Harry stepped back, looking apprehensive. Fenrir’s smile broadened in amusement. Subs were so fickle and his was no exception. He came undone gladly beneath him but went all shy and uncertain and frigidwhen given time to think about what had happened. “You think too much,” Fenrir muttered, staring at his mate’s body, deciding he _would_ get him to eat three meals a day, even if he had to force it down his throat. The boy was far too skinny.

 

 “You look like you needed the sleep – just how long did you sleep for?” he asked casually, swinging his legs slightly in the water so that it lapped higher against Harry's chest. Harry eyed the limbs warily, as if they might strike out and took another uneasy step back.

 

 “After my walk last night I just dropped off, didn’t wake up until this afternoon,” Harry replied, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never really… I don’t get lazy days. It was different, seems like my body needed it though…”

 

 “Mmmm,” Fenrir grumbled, eyeing him appreciatively. “Your body needs a lot of things. I’d like you to eat at the circle tonight.”

 

 The boy said nothing and Fenrir was beginning to learn that ordering him to do something was just one certain way to guarantee he _wouldn’t_ do it, so he dropped the matter.

 

 “How do wizards and witches come to have the recessive gene?” His mate asked abruptly, with a suddenness that insinuated he had been mulling the question over in his head all night and day. It must have been hard, not having anyone to tell him who he was, where he’d come from and then to find out one of his dead parents had carried a gene that made him an invaluable asset to werewolves. Fenrir had never had to bear any of his adolescent burdens alone.

 

 Fidgeting uncomfortably, he scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t good with ‘comforting’, he was the alpha, his mate was always intended to be the sub, the one that comforted and cared for their young. This wasn’t something he was good at and yet his instincts could sense this was what the boy needed. Having a mate definitely wasn’t what he had expected. But then, he had never expected to have someone like this boy irrevocably bound to him.

 

 “Centuries ago it’s said that a human, a witch fell in love with a werewolf but he feared turning her. Back then any known wolf was staked to the ground with silver and burned alive,” Greyback explained darkly, eyeing Harry with the air of an adult telling a child a scary story. “But not to be kept apart, the witch created a dangerous ritual imbued with dark and terrifying magic. She used her blood and her werewolf lover’s blood to gift her body with resistance to the werewolf venom.”

 

 Slowly, he slid into the water, causing it to lap against Harry's flesh. Harry's eyes were wide but he seemed enraptured by the story, caught by the flow of Fenrir’s coarse, husky voice. “The story of her success travelled and as most werewolves cannot help but bite when they fuck – especially new wolves, she was sought out by many. Even a little nip or clumsy love-bite could turn a human. So wizards and witches travelled far and wide to be blessed by her, to find a way to be with the werewolves they loved.”

 

 

 

 Harry frowned. “But surely that means Tonks – I mean… Remus Lupin, he’s married to a witch and she isn’t–” He lost his voice to a flush, not wanting to think about Tonks and Remus having sex. Suddenly he felt movement and he looked up to find Greyback a lot closer than before, directly in front of him now, only a few inches away. _Naked_! Harry took in a sharp take of breath.

 

 Greyback smirked. “The wolfsbane in Lupin’s system prevents his body from making venom. He couldn’t turn another even if he wanted to while it’s in him,” Fenrir explained, reaching down to cup water in his hands and smooth it over Harry's skin before he had chance to react. Harry gasped and flew backwards, stumbling over his feet in his haste. His fingers scrambled through the air, desperately snatching at the world for purchase, grasping Fenrir’s arms at the last second to steady himself.

 

 A low grumble of appreciation grew in Greyback’s throat and Harry stumbled back away from him more carefully this time, avoiding his eyes. His cheeks were burning, Greyback liked it. “Clumsy, or eager?” Greyback teased, his voice raspy.

 

 That flush touching Harry’s cheeks grew darker. “Shut up,” Harry snarled. “So a load of werewolves’ lovers found a way to be with them without being contaminated each time they fucked, what’s that got to do with me?”

 

 Fenrir growled again, but in anger this time. “I’m not a disease boy, just like your magic isn’t a disease to you – even if it burns up everything it touches like the plague.”

 

 Harry stopped at that, remembering what Echo had told him last night. Greyback’s entire world had been torn apart by magic, by wizards. Thinking about it, Harry had seen more terrible things done by wizards than he had ever seen done by werewolves and yet the werewolves were outcast? Feared? Hunted? _We are the animals,_ Harry thought wretchedly, gritting his teeth as he bit back his initial reaction to snap back at Greyback vehemently. He had every reason to loathe magic.

 

 “Everyone realised soon enough that the witch’s ritual had not only made the human partners impervious to the venom, but morphed their genetics, made them what their werewolf spouses needed complete. The human subs could breed and carry their young to term, something that werewolves had never been able to do before.” Greyback’s voice was gruff as he continued, towering over Harry, eyeing him with an obvious flare of irritation still. Yet his rough voice carried a tone of awe, a reverence to it that suggested this was one of the werewolves’ most precious and bittersweet legends.

 

 Harry raised his eyes to meet Greyback’s then, seeing darkened azure orbs staring into him. He licked his lips, uncertain as ever of the thrill, the pleasure that rushed up his spine. He fidgeted in the water. The steam was starting to make him a bit dizzy. “The werewolves and their humans, they were all killed, weren’t they?” Harry asked, dreading the answer.

 

 Unmistakeable pangs of pain shuttered through that rugged face. Harry could sense that distant agony as if it were his own and it made something in his chest tighten. His hand flew up instantly; surprised at the sheer intensity of Greyback’s emotions inside him, but Greyback’s large hand caught his wrist before Harry reached his chest.

 

 Harry gasped at the bolt of electric heat that burst from the place where their skin touched. He knew what this was without even asking. It was the bond pulling them together tighter in an attempt to force him to finish their binding, he knew it. The places where Greyback’s coarse fingers pressed into his flesh were so sensitive it nearly _hurt_ and he was grateful to the steamy water for hiding his burgeoning arousal.

 

 “Not all of them,” Greyback answered slowly, his voice husky now and eyes clouded with something other than pain. He knew what Harry was feeling and it intrigued him. He pulled Harry closer by the captive wrist and squeezed the limb firmly, as if testing how far he could press before he began to hurt him.

 

 Harry just stared up at him, dumbfounded and flushed all over. He had to get out of here. He didn’t have any right to be getting _those_ feelings about a werewolf who (even if he wasn’t a child killer or hadn’t intentionally changed Remus) had hurt his best friend’s brother and many others. Even if he did have his reasons, it did not erase the facts.

_And I have no right to be getting_ any _feelings while Voldemort is still alive_ , he thought, clenching his eyes tightly shut. A low growl that sounded imploring more than menacing coerced his eyes to open. He found himself face-to-face with Greyback, with that hot breath on his cheeks. The wolf gazed at him a moment before speaking again.

 

 “They killed the witch and the secret of the ritual died with her, but the couples she united lived on and gave birth to many. Every now and then a child was born human, the same way wizards and witches sometimes beget squibs. They were completely human witches or wizards but they carried the werewolf gene dormant inside them. Through the centuries, they were gradually found in everyday human society, some not even knowing what they were.”

 

 Harry’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Greyback growled again, the sound more heated than before. He could _smell_ the arousal coming off the wolf in waves, rippling through his skin like a pleasurable shudder. Desperate to put some sort of space between them, he tugged at the wrist Greyback held captive but the wolf only retaliated by pulling him in closer. Their bodies were only a hairsbreadth apart now in the water.

 

 “I have no idea which one of my parents carried the gene,” he muttered, his voice far too breathy for his liking. He was trying to stay on level conversation, but he wasn’t fighting to get away. Why wasn’t he fighting? He felt sick, hungry and dizzy all at once. His body was resoundingly empty and the fragile, incomplete bond he had with Greyback was tugging him ferociously into the werewolf’s hot, huge body that dwarfed his own so spectacularly.

 

 “Remus would probably know,” Harry said quietly when Greyback didn’t say anything, wonderingly distantly what words of wisdom either of his parents might be able to offer him if they were still with him. How would they have handled the news? Both that they had handed down a werewolf gene to their only son and also, that that son had gotten himself bound to the most reputed werewolf alpha in Britain.

 

 Suddenly, a more ferocious snarl ripped through his thoughts and the hand not wrapped around his wrist dove into his hair, tugging his head back sharply. He gasped; a flash of blue eyes ringed with gold all that he saw before that mouth dived for his throat. He tensed for pain but none came. Those teeth he so feared merely grazed the mating mark at his throat, his only warning before those lips worshipped him there. Sucking hard, they brought all of the blood to the surface of his skin so that when those fangs tickled him again, he couldn’t help but groan in swelling ecstasy.

 

 “You think far too much about that werewolf, I don’t like it,” Greyback snarled into his neck, nipping him sharply before drawing back to look at him. His fist was still locked in Harry’s hair while the other kept Harry’s hand between their chests, sandwiched between both of their frantically pounding hearts.

 

 Harry sneered, the expression nowhere near as impressive as it should have been thanks to the arousal rushing through him – that and the sensual vibrations urging him to bind their bodies completely. “R-Remus is the closest thing to my Dad that I have,” Harry hissed out. The fingers knotted in his damp, untidy dark hair were _just_ this side of painful in their intensity. His hand not caught by Greyback’s was pushing hard at the werewolf’s shoulder, but nowhere near as hard as it could’ve been. His limbs felt weak. Was it the bath getting to him? Or perhaps the incomplete bond messing with him? Was it Greyback?

 

 “Suggesting anything else is repulsive,” his words were terse but his tone wasn’t quite committed. He could feel Greyback’s breath on his cheeks. He could feel the bastard’s chest moving with his breathing and their heart’s beat in sync against his hand. Everything he had learned last night, everything the wolf had said and done over the last few days, it had all reminded Harry of just how _human_ this man was before him, no matter how vehemently he tried to deny it.

 

 How easy would it have been for him, Harry to have taken another path after losing his parents and after being forced to suffer years of neglect with the Dursleys? How easy would it have been for him to become a law unto himself just like Greyback? Too easy. Faced with everything Greyback was now, he found he could not blame him for all that had happened, not really.

 

  _Remus said I always look for the best in people, even when others can’t see it in themselves, just like my mum,_ he thought distantly, wondering if it was her that had been the one to hand him down his werewolf genes. _Am I trying to find goodness that doesn’t exist? Or is what I’m seeing really real?_

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to fuck him, the wolf in me is still uneasy with you not bound to it fully. No werewolf’s name should be on your lips but mine,” Greyback growled. He leant forwards, forcing Harry’s body to arch back with him so until his head was touching the water and their hips met. Harry groaned at the feel of that thick thigh against his hard cock and a familiar large, throbbing column of heat pressing into his belly.

 

 

 

 “Oh, delicious boy,” Fenrir growled, jerking his hips to press his erection into Harry harder. The sliding motion tugged his foreskin back from his helmet which peeked above the water for Harry to see. His boy was flushed all over again and not just from the steam. His pretty tanned nipples were hard and calling to him tauntingly. “Sweet Jesus,” Fenrir panted, his claws knotting tighter in the boy’s hair as he leant down to capture a delicate bud with his teeth.

 

 “Shit!” The creature beneath him growled with wolfish fervour, squirming and reaching out with his free hand to clasp at anything he could reach. Those blunt nails scraped and clawed at Fenrir’s shoulder and Fenrir raised his eyes to watch that expression as he caught the tanned peak between his teeth gently, flicking his tongue back and forth across the taut flesh until it was hard in his mouth.

 

 “Just like your pretty cock,” he taunted the boy with a raspy voice, lifting his head from the sensitive bud and releasing that trapped wrist to flick his callous thumb over the nipple. He knew it was rough on that sensitive bud and he relished in the way that slender body arched back even more without thought, offering his chest up to further torment.

 

 His mate wasn’t fighting him this time, but he wasn’t participating either and he snarled greedily at the thought. He wanted everything the boy had to give and then more! “You like this?” he asked, grinding his prick into the boy’s belly again, pressing down firmly on the nipple he had already assaulted with his rough thumb before lowering his mouth to the neglected one. “Tell me, pet or I might stop.”

 

 A gurgled whine left those flustered lips and his eyes widened in surprise as the boy’s fingers found his hair and knotted in it hard. Those eyes were shut with passion, lips parted with wolfish moans. There was nothing more arousing than his mate, so stubborn and headstrong, now reduced to such shy compliance at his touch. He sucked hard at the nipple in his mouth in reward and watched those lips widen in a snarl of pleasure. That chest began to heave with breathlessness.

 

 Fenrir straightened up then, bringing the boy with him with his hand still buried in that freshly washed, wet hair. The boy’s eyes fluttered open at that, his glassy green gaze focussed on Fenrir and his chin lifting as if he expected something.

 

 Fenrir frowned, leaning down and pressing his nose into the boy’s neck, just under his ear. He inhaled deeply, moving them both backwards as he drank in the maddening aroma until his back was against the wall of the pool. His boy came with him until their chests were flat together and only then did he release his hold on that dark hair. His comparably large hands flew down to grasp the boy’s tight arse and haul him up against his body so that their cocks could meet.

 

 “F-F…uck…!” The boy cried out, his voice husky and masculine and yet tinged with the whine of the wolf inside him, desperate to get out. The hands in Fenrir’s hair still held him fast and he found himself enjoying the careless roughness, tipping his head back so that the boy had to grip it tighter to keep hold. Those eyes were open still as well, watching him as if he were confused at what was happening.

 

  _Or why he is acquiescing and participating so willingly,_ Fenrir thought, staring into those unfathomable emerald orbs. “That’s it, pet,” he breathed, “look at me.” He punctuated his words by rolling his hips up into the boy’s, pulling him tight to his body as he did so, so that their cocks pressed tightly together. Those eyes flew shut at the intensity of the pleasure and he dug his claws into those firm buttocks, just enough to make those eyes fly open again.

 

 “Look at me,” he demanded. He swore he had never seen cheeks so red with embarrassment and arousal. “Do you want me to fuck you, Harry?” The name sounded foreign on his tongue, it seemed to startle his mate from his lust-induced daze and help him to find his senses briefly, for he shook his head vehemently. Fenrir clawed his cheeks harder, beginning a slow but firm rhythm of gyrating hips. Supporting the boy’s weight with one hand on his arse, he reached down with the other and squeezed their cocks together. His large fist formed a delicious, coarse tunnel for their erections to glide through, both of them fucking his hand with urgent, frantic jerking motions.

 

 “Do you want me to fuck you, Harry?” he asked again with deliberate stress on his mate's name. Yes it felt strange on his tongue, strange but right. The boy shook his head again, harder this time and yanked his hands free of Fenrir's hair, shoving at his chest to try and escape. Fenrir growled and seized a hand to stop it from pounding on his chest.

 

 “Look at me,” he demanded again. The words were irresistible it seemed for those green eyes met his, a myriad of emotions flying through them. Fenrir held them, tugging the boy's resisting hand to their cocks. It was struggling still as he wrapped it around their erections, trapping it with his own hand but the moment he squeezed, the boy froze. Those eyes snapped shut and he tried to turn his head away, his fingers stiff and unwilling beneath Greyback's hand.

 

 Leaning up, Fenrir made that growling, purring noise again and lapped teasingly at the soft curve of the boy's ear. “You can do it, pet,” he murmured with his coarse voice, helping that slowly relaxing hand to glide up and down their shafts, the water slicking the movements and rippling deliciously at their bodies. The boy was panting hard now and looking down at the place where their joined hands were just visible on their needy shafts beneath the water, as if he couldn't believe it.

 

 “That's it,” Fenrir urged him, loosening his grip when he felt the boy's hand begin to move on its own, faster, harder than before. He pinched uncertainly at the heads of their cocks to tease the line of flesh just under the helmet of both organs, the way he liked, the way Fenrir liked.

 

 With a sharp grunt of surprise, Fenrir leant back against the wall of the pool, both hands grasping the boy now to pull him further up his body, giving him leverage. The boy gasped at the sudden movement but didn’t stop; in fact his hand moved faster despite its shaking. His heart and breath were hammering in his chest so loudly that Fenrir could hear both.

 

 “That's it,” he praised him, rolling his hips into the movements of that inexperienced hand. Those eyes were fixed on their cocks, as if the simple sight aroused the boy to no end and Fenrir smirked, spreading the cheeks he had hold of and squeezing tight.

 

 A groan flew from that mouth, the one that had turned up to him expectantly moments ago/ Fenrir snarled with pleasure in answer, thrusting hard up into that momentarily stilled hand before rising out of the water. He silenced any cry of protest or confusion and stopped any resurfacing of the boy's troublesome guilt by savaging that tempting throat as he moved.

 

 He wasn’t even sure how they got back into the main area of the den. But they did, still joined. Holding that skinny body to him hard, he sucked hard enough to bruise at the boy's collarbone, his throat, his chest. And the boy cried out without meaning to, biting down hard on his own fist to silence himself.

 

 “Don't look so ashamed,” Fenrir admonished, looking up into the boy's eyes, “There's no one else to see what happens in here but us. There's no one to justify yourself to in here.” With that, he tossed the boy on the bed without giving him a chance to think. The boy thought far too much, he needed to stop and enjoy himself for a moment without concerning himself with the rest of the world. He needed to stop everything else and just…

 

 “Just feel,” Fenrir growled, lowering himself to the plush, welcoming bed of furs. Crawling up his mate's body with feral desire burning through his every blood cell, he tugged the boy down by his ankle so that he, Fenrir was kneeling over his thighs. Glistening rivulets glided down his tensed muscles and dripped onto the damp body beneath him.

 

 Harry was staring up at him, momentarily stunned and Fenrir took advantage, leaning down to press their foreheads together, his wet hair spilling off his shoulders and creating a damp curtain around them. He held that green gaze determinedly, willing the heat of his body to silence the concerns, the interfering human morals and guilt once and for all.

 

 A shining droplet slid down his face, across his unshaven upper lip and clung to his mouth momentarily, before dripping down onto Harry's. Harry gasped, his body arching up, coming to life again. His hands flew up, digging urgently into Fenrir's upper arms as his lips parted and lifted up a fraction again, expectantly.

 

 With his brow creased with a frown, Fenrir asked, “What do you want?” but the question seemed to startle the boy out of some daze for as soon as he registered the words he turned his head to the side, evidently mortified about something. With a grunt, Fenrir dragged his lips down the exposed throat, teasing the tendons pulled taut under that delicate skin. His wet hair spilled out over the boy’s body as he moved down, down, worshipping every inch of skin he could reach.

 

 His tongue dipped into the boy’s belly-button, earning him a delicious squirm. He chuckled, glancing up through his curtain of wet hair as he seized one of the boy’s hands again. A rush of panic filled the air and Fenrir snarled at it, raising that hand to brush those fingertips against his lips. The boy was watching him without being asked now. His green gaze was riveted to where Fenrir was grazing the pad of the boy’s index finger with his teeth.

 

 “You’re still embarrassed even after all the things we’ve done,” Fenrir smirked, nipping the tip of the digit against his lips before licking it suggestively, “I like that, pet.”

 

 “D-Don’t call me that!” Harry gasped out. Fenrir raised an eyebrow. A sign of life from the boy’s human preferences? Apparently the boy wasn’t as lost as he’d thought, he was more in control of himself than he had thought too and yet he was still watching him lave his fingers, coating them with saliva. Fenrir liked that very much.

 

 With a growl of pleasure he rocked back slightly, guiding Harry’s unwitting hand down to the valley between the boy’s cheeks. Those eyes widened delightfully. “That’s it,” Fenrir murmured gruffly, using his own fingers to guide Harry's over his puckered hole, spreading the moisture gathered on his fingertips there. The little ring of muscles clenched like a hungry mouth and Fenrir grunted, pushing one of the boy’s fingers in until he cried out in surprised pleasure.

 

 “Fuck!” Harry roared.

 

 “That’s the idea,” Fenrir mused with a raised brow, drawing his hand away. He noted that the boy’s hand did not retreat but his mate did stare at him, almost lost. Another chuckle rumbled in Fenrir’s throat as he reached down, smoothing a handful of spittle across his large manhood. “Stretch yourself, don’t be coy with me, I can _feel_ how much you want it.” He punctuated the words with hard, fast thrusts over his leaking erection, baring his teeth with pleasure and need, the need to get inside the body that was perfect for him in every way.

 

 “Just feel,” he repeated himself, his free hand reaching down to cup the boy’s pink, swollen arousal. It fit perfectly in his hand and throbbed in answer to his gentle squeezing, the urging caresses of his thumb just under the head. His answer was immediate – he watched the finger pull back out of that hole and smear more spittle across the ring before diving in, slowly opening the entrance with unyielding circling motions.

 

 The boy was panting again, his head turned into the furs in mortification and his damp chest heaving. “Oh yes,” Fenrir panted, hastening his thrusts over both their cocks, watching the movements in the boy’s backside quicken to match. “Oh, you’re so ready baby – still limber from me before, aren’t you?” Better be safe than sorry though. Even if he was salivating at the thought of that tight, hot chute, the idea of hurting the body beneath him was abhorrent to him.

 

 “Two fingers,” he urged him, smearing more saliva across the boy’s hole before resuming the stroking of his own fevered prick. A second finger slid in beside the first, clumsily opening the tender ring that right now he wanted to fuck with his cock and devour with his tongue, both with equal fervency. “I could eat you whole,” he grumbled nonsensically, leaning down over the boy’s body again and rubbing his cock impatiently against Harry’s.

 

 A thick line of pre-emission oozed from his tip and slid over the boy’s belly, he liked that and by the way the boy squirmed, he liked it too (though he would never admit it). “Put me in,” he growled against the boy’s neck, dropping open-mouthed kisses on the juncture of his shoulder. He could feel the boy’s heat beneath him, his increasing desire and he knew he wasn’t the only one that wanted this.

 

 “Put me inside you, pet,” he whispered, capturing an ear lobe between his teeth and laving it hungrily with his tongue. Harry grunted, his entire body tensing and his legs rising either side of Fenrir’s massive torso, spread wide in shy welcome and hunger.

 

 With a wicked grin, Fenrir tugged the boy’s hand that was between his legs towards his own heavy arousal, helping him to wrap his fingers round the shaft once more. He felt the boy tense under him, felt his face scrunch tight with embarrassment. The smell of his mortification made it that much more arousing, it was so…charming, if he dared use such a word.

 

 “You feel how big I am for you, pet?” he murmured huskily against a flushed ear, his stubble tickling the sensitive flesh. “You feel how hard you make me?” Harry said nothing, but his breathing grew even more frantic and Fenrir could smell the arousal leaking from him in answer. So his pet liked dirty talk did he?

 

 “How does it feel in your little hand, pet?” he went on, the face against his growing impossibly hot. “You can barely get your fingers around it, can you? But it slid right between your cheeks nicely – you remember? You fitted me like a glove.”

 

 “No…” Harry gave a barely audible whisper. Fenrir chuckled against his jaw, nipping teasingly.

 

 “Oh, yes. You opened your sweet virgin place to me. You begged me and you want it again, don’t you? I can feel the way your fingers are tightening around me…” In reflex those fingers did tighten and he grunted in bliss, shoving his cock into that hand. Oh, this boy was so perfect for him. “Put me inside you and I’ll make everything blissfully simple for you,” he said and felt the boy swallow hard in answer.

 

 Slowly the hand holding him pushed down, guiding the thick, swollen head of his cock to that hot entrance. He groaned at the heat radiating from it and then sank his claws into the furs as the boy pushed him in. They both snarled out their pleasure into the softly lit den, their bodies joining with wet, debauched sounds.

 

 Fenrir found his thrusts being slowed by the boy’s hand, found those thighs pushing at his shoulders to steady him as the boy adjusted. It was more delectable than sinking balls-deep into him in one go. Whether he would admit it later or not, the boy was participating, welcoming him into his body – _willingly._

“Perfect,” Fenrir gasped, leaning his torso back to better look down on the place where his mate was swallowing him – slowly but eagerly. His face was tinged with some pain but pleasure as well. It was the first time he’d been inside him without the powers of the moon to ease their union. _Another virginity that I’ve been given,_ he mused, settling his hands on the boy’s thighs and gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust.

 

 The boy’s insides were sweltering, wet and tight, tensing around him with every inward movement. “P-Push out with your arse,” Fenrir snarled, shoving the boy’s thighs up to better open him up inside. “Like you did under the moon, pet,” he urged him and gasped when he felt the boy obey (for once), the obedience allowing him to slide right the way in to the base.

 

 Harry arched with a groan of fullness and Fenrir squeezed his thighs appreciatively. He rolled his hips from side to side with the tiniest infractions as his restraint frayed, trying to allow his mate to accustom himself before it snapped altogether. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Come on, pet, fuck yourself on my cock.” He did not like the edge of pleading to his tone.

 

 Releasing his hold on the boy’s thighs he leant forward, arms out straight and rigid, steadying him above Harry as the boy began to rock tentatively onto him. It was a diminutive movement but it made him grind his teeth in release of his thrill. It was hot, wet and tight. That sensitive place was sucking him in like a hungry mouth, tugging at him each time he shifted back slightly, as if it didn’t want to let him go.

 

 “You have such a greedy little arse,” he growled, his hair hanging in wet curtains around his face as he pressed tighter to the boy beneath him, desperate for skin on skin. The rolling motions of those slender hips grew bolder. Harry was circling the heavy weight of his erection, grinding his cock up into his belly with every thrust, panting, barely audible gasps shuddering from his lips as he did so. His eyes were still closed and his face still turned into the fur, but he was gorgeous.

 

 Fenrir swore he was salivating as he stared down at him, their chests almost touching, the boy’s weeping, wanton arousal rubbing against his belly. “That’s it pet, feel it. Fuck me until you burst,” he urged him, finishing the sentence with a sharp lick just under that still flushed ear. The boy bucked his hips in surprise, sweat beading across his chest and forehead now and Fenrir felt him try to move faster, harder against him, felt his frustration ripple through the small gap between them at the restricting angle.

 

 Bearing a wolfish grin, Fenrir seized the boy by his hips and tugged until he was on his hands and knees. Those lips that had offered a sound of protest when their bodies parted in movement, now stretched wide around a deep-throated groan as Fenrir slid back into his sinful tightness.

 

 The boy’s head was hanging limply against his chest, his cries muffled slightly and his every muscle visibly tightening as he explored the new position. He shoved his hips back harder, faster, swallowing Fenrir’s length with ravenous urgency, giving as good as he got.

 

 Fenrir reached forwards, seizing a fistful of hair and tugging Harry’s head back, rousing a cry of tormented pleasure from those lips.

 

 “That’s it, baby,” he snarled senselessly into the den, answering those urgent thrusts with his own now, throwing that lightly toned body forward with every one. “So tight, so perfect… You can see now, can’t you? You were made for me!” He kept hold of those dark locks, using his grip to urge Harry’s body against him. And then it wasn’t enough, he needed to feel the length of that body against him as he spilled himself inside, he needed to be so close he could _feel_ the sweat beading across that skin.

 

 A yelp tore from Harry’s mouth as Fenrir yanked him hard back against him, rolling onto his own legs and seating Harry in his lap, still buried inside him with his sweaty chest pressed tightly to Harry’s smooth back. The boy let out a feral cry, his head falling back on Fenrir’s shoulder as he swallowed him to the hilt.

 

 Fenrir tightened his hands underneath the boys knees, lifting them so that the boy was balanced precariously on his cock, his legs in the air and in Fenrir’s grasp. The werewolf growled that sensuous, coercing purr and the boy rolled his head on his neck with an answering wolfish whine, his hands digging into Fenrir’s elbows.

 

 “S-So…deep…” The boy panted huskily, his eyes closed and his neck exposed.

 

 Fenrir growled appreciatively again. He loved the back and forth between dominance and submission that Harry’s personality offered so naturally. It made his insides clench. Turning his head to rest his mouth against that pale throat, he began to use his grip on the boy’s legs to roll that smaller body against him just right. He felt that tight arse jerk against him, eager but unable to control the movements, forced to take and loving it.

 

 He couldn’t wait to see the boy’s confidence bloom, to have him fight him as equally and voraciously in the furs as he did in everything else.

 

 “You’ll be able to feel me in your throat if I go any deeper,” Fenrir purred against that neck, bringing the boy’s arse hard and fast down onto his throbbing arousal now, the friction burning up the last of his restraints like a wildfire. His own hips were moving too, slamming up into that sweltering, blissful heat with ferocious need. He was barely aware that he was snarling like a beast but he was painfully aware that the boy was groaning constantly, circling his hips frantically in his grasp.

 

 “You want my cum in you, pet?” Fenrir growled, the slapping sounds of their bodies meeting fast and hard sounding over his voice.

 

 “Fuck!” The boy cursed, his head thrashing, his toes curling mid-air and his cock twitching, spitting out thick, creamy semen over his own belly. The hot walls of his arse clenched and shook with spasms as he spilled his pleasure over himself. Milking the last of Fenrir’s restraint from him, he sucked him in impossibly deep, gripping him like a vice and tore his climax from him.

 

 

 

 Harry lay on the furs beneath Greyback’s body, hot and sticky with sweat and cum, panting for air with his arse still full and shaking with spasms around the werewolf’s flagging hardness. He could feel his insides slick with cum and his first clear thought was that it didn’t feel as disgusting as it should have. He was lying on his belly, Greyback’s great body on top of him but slightly to the side so that he could still breathe.

 

 Greyback’s chest was heaving with breathlessness too against his back. Harry could feel his heart thudding against his shoulder blades. He was alarmed at how nice this felt – peaceful, as if a great weight had been lifted from his aching shoulders. That was, until the reality he had managed to blissfully escape for a short while tumbled back down upon him.

 

 

 

 Fenrir felt the body beneath his tense slightly and he smirked, knowing that his irritating human morals were back again. He nuzzled in between where the boy’s shoulder rested against the furs. “This bed smells like you, I like that,” he grumbled appreciatively, his husky voice light in post-orgasmic relief. He tugged the boy close to him briefly, inhaling him deep. He had never ever been so connected to a person, so content in close proximity to them and he had certainly never _cuddled._ Fenrir Greyback didn’t do such things. And yet he was now, with this young man, who seemed to be swiftly becoming the exception to every rule.

 

 “If you deny that was good or that you enjoyed it you’re a bloody liar,” Fenrir mumbled into the boy’s shoulder, grazing that smooth, delectable skin with his lips distractedly. How was his skin so smooth and soft? Except his palms and fingertips, they were coarse and rough…

 

 “I’m not denying it,” Harry said quietly, surprising Fenrir into stillness.

 

 “Oh?”

 

 The boy sighed. “It was sodding brilliant, alright? That’s the problem,” Harry grunted, fighting against Fenrir’s hold to roll onto his back and level his still too-bright gaze at him. “I shouldn’t be… I shouldn’t do things like that with you – not with anyone at all while I still have a job to do, but especially not with you.”

 

 “Forget about the Dark Lord. I’ve sent two of my best to help your friends–”

 

 “But that doesn’t change the fact that I should be there helping them,” Harry cut across him. “It’s my task not theirs, not yours–”

 

 “But we’re bound. Whatever your task is, it’s now mine,” Fenrir said simply, frowning at the boy’s stubbornness. “You really can’t think of what you want over anything else even for a moment, can you?” he demanded tersely.

 

“And I suppose you think _you’re_ what I want, do you?” Harry snapped.

 

 Fenrir growled in frustration, rolling over so that he was leaning over Harry’s body again, but face to face this time. Azure eyes, still shining with dying passion stared down at him. “ _I think_ you were offering me your mouth earlier, pet, eager for a human kiss, or am I wrong?” The dark flush that suffused that skin with colour told him that his guess was correct and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. With an inward sigh, he got up off the bed, unashamed of his nakedness.

 

 Crossing the warm den, Fenrir dragged a fresh pair of trousers from the shelves standing near the door and tugged them on. He was frustrated as ever, just as confused and yet whatever it was they had shared a moment ago seemed to have banished his notorious temper – for now at least. It seemed the same for the boy as well, who was lying on the bed still, watching him thoughtfully through the parted semi-transparent curtains.

 

 “Who is Shae?” the boy asked eventually, his voice still slightly hoarse from crying out in passion. Fenrir frowned, freezing on the spot. He supposed the boy had heard the name when he was eavesdropping last night. That or Echo mentioned it, the interfering arse. “It’s the name of the village you stayed in a few nights ago and also the name of my…my mother,” he said, feeling awkward saying it. _Everyone_ knew who his parents were; he’d never had to explain it before.

 

 The boy sat up on the bed, pulling one of the fur blankets with him and protecting his dignity with it as he did so. “That village, why are you so acquainted with it if you hate wizards so much?”

 

  _Why are you so interested in knowing about the man you claim to be your rapist?_ Fenrir thought. He was irritated but glad at the same time that the boy was looking at him, only him, thinking only of him – taking an interest. His entire life had become the epitome of a paradox since this boy had stumbled into it, it was troublesome and yet it had never felt more full and bright.

 

 “My mother, a human, a carrier of the werewolf gene like you came from that village. The old crone that looked after you when you were there, Eithne is my grandmother,” Fenrir explained, stalking towards his mate as he spoke until he was standing at the edge of the bed and the boy was staring up at him. He liked the look and smell of his mate on his furs.

 

 “ _Grandmother?_ ” Harry repeated, bemused. Fenrir could not help but smirk. In his own way, his mate really was delightful.

 

 “We protect the village from outsiders and in exchange they provide us with clothing and even food to complement what we hunt. My parents were the greatest of their time, revered by the humans of that village and werewolves alike,” Fenrir explained, unable to help the air of pride to his voice. The boy shifted, staring up at him with eyes filled with curiosity still.

 

 “What was your dad’s name?” Harry asked curiously, as if he truly wanted to know.

 

 With a frown creasing his brow still, Fenrir replied slowly. “Adair. He was the alpha before me.”

 

 “And you took over when your parents and siblings were killed by those hunters?” Harry asked. Fenrir stepped back from the bed, unprepared for the shock of his past tumbling from those. He hadn’t realised how much the boy knew and he wasn’t sure how he felt about him knowing the darkest, most traumatic part of his life – more excruciating even than his time in Azkaban.

 

 Unable to find words, he let out a grumbling huff and snatched up the discarded fur cloak the boy seemed to cling to, throwing it over to him. “Keep that round you, it’s cold out,” he murmured, heading towards the door. “I expect to see you at the circle when it’s time for dinner.” His hand touched the door, but before he could even pull it open, his mate’s voice halted him in place again.

 

 “Why did Echo say that I reminded him of your mother?” Harry asked, his voice almost imploring him to return. Slowly, Fenrir turned to face him.

 

 “He was stubborn, headstrong, defiant and always determined to do the right thing by others before himself,” Fenrir explained. Harry raised a brow.

 

 “ _He_?”

 

 “Yes, he. My mother was a male carrier like you. My parents were both male,” he explained simply, again slightly awkward. He had never had to explain this to anyone before. Then he realised perhaps it was the term ‘mother’ that had thrown the boy off. He had most likely only heard that name given to female parents; male pregnancy was still a risky magical procedure in the wizarding world and thusly avoided in most cases. Or it had been the last he’d heard anyway.

 

 “When you have our cubs you’ll be their mother, but no less of a man,” he said, his voice as gruff as ever but carrying an edge of reassurance beneath the surface.

 

 That brow furrowed again. “I’m not _having_ anything,” Harry reminded him bluntly. “And even if I wanted to, I certainly wouldn’t fuck you when you were a _werewolf_ to get pregnant. I’m not into bestiality. Quite frankly, the idea makes me feel sick and if you even _try_ it I’ll hex your prick off.”

 

 Fenrir watched the boy shudder at the idea, and realised that for once he wasn’t simply being coquettish. The notion of being mounted by his wolf truly was abhorrent to him. _One thing at a time,_ he told himself, biting back any retort that may have been on his tongue and turning to the door once more. He pushed it open and then paused on the threshold.

 

 “Don’t bother to take any more _midnight strolls_ in search of a way out, you’ll never get out without me or one of the others,” he said without glancing back and stepped through the door, shutting it behind him.

 

 

 

 After a moment or two, Harry got up stiffly, groaning quietly at the ache in his limbs. It was a good ache though, he had to admit and his arse burned in that way that made him flush. He walked towards the shelves by the door where one of Greyback’s underlings (the woman he thought was called Larentia) had piled some of his ‘new clothes’ alongside Greyback’s.

 

 Tugging the first two garments off the pile, he pulled on the dark red three-quarter length trousers and the light tanned shirt. The fabrics were soft and light, they didn’t irritate his skin like a lot of things seemed to since the werewolf in him had been awoken. Most surprisingly, however, they seemed loosely fitted to his small frame. Had these come from the village as well? From Eithne, Greyback’s grandmother? He flushed darkly at what the old woman had seen that night he had stayed and prayed he would never meet her again, for he would never be able to meet her eyes if he did.

 

 Muffled voices from beyond the door caught his attention just as he turned to head back to the bed. He lingered on the spot for a moment, not sure what to do. But then curiosity won out. Pressing his ear to the wood, he found he could hear everything clearly.

 

 “…so whipped,” he heard a coarse voice murmur. It wasn’t Greyback’s, his was the one that answered.

 

 “You forget who you’re speaking to, you old prick. Perhaps you’d like a reminder?” Greyback’s voice was hard, ferocious as Harry remembered from the night on the tower. It made his skin prickle uncomfortably. His mate was both upset and angry. Wait. He froze. Did he just think that?

 

 The sound of the ‘old prick’ scoffing dragged his attention back to the conversation beyond the door.

 

 “Banished from your own den by a runt sub,” he sneered. “Taking that brat’s _shitty_ attitude and letting him insult us by not eating with the pack, as is the rule. No newcomer has ever gotten away with behaviour like this, not even the very young or troubled.” Harry heard the man’s sneer intensify. Who was it?

 

 “Not only that but you’ve sent two of our best warriors to carry out some secret task for that boy. I may be the only one with balls enough to confront you, _Alpha_ but don’t think I’m the only one that’s noticed. That little harlot is turning you into a lapdog!”

 

 A roar of fury filled the air, followed by a hard _thud_ of a body crashing into the door Harry was pressed against. He leapt back, gasping for breath. He didn’t need to press his ear back to it to hear the words that followed; Greyback’s voice was a booming crescendo of outrage. “You’re probably going senile with old age, Ulric so let me remind you; I’m the alpha here and if you or anyone else disagrees with how I treat my own mate, you can fight me for him _and_ my title and lose both battles.”

 

 Another snarl of rage punctuated his words and the accompanying scrambling sound told Harry that Greyback was dragging the man to his feet, tossing him away from the door of his den with careless disgust. “But if you disrespect me again, old man, I’ll put you down on that dirt so you won’t get up.” There was silence for a moment, followed by the sound of movement, of the two going their separate ways from the door, then silence again.

 

 Harry swallowed. He knew what that was about. He knew that Fenrir Greyback was the most revered werewolf alpha in the country and how unheard of it was for someone to challenge him. Yet that old man had. Conall and his lot, they had dared to defy him too, had even tried to take Harry despite his claim. _It’s because of me,_ Harry realised, not even attempting to move from where he stood frozen.

 

  _My behaviour, it’s causing strife among the pack and every other werewolf we come across, or at least damaging Greyback’s reputation._ He didn’t know whether it was his instincts or his own guilt, but he didn’t like that idea. He never had liked the idea of causing trouble for someone else, of being a burden on their life; perhaps it was a trait that the Dursleys had instilled in him. Regardless, he didn’t like the idea of putting Greyback’s hard-won lifestyle in jeopardy.

 

  _I must be mad,_ he thought, closing his eyes and covering them with his hand. _He’s making me mad! I have to get out of here before I go stark raving insane!_ Yes, he would get out of here – there was no other option. But while he was stuck here, it might help both Greyback and his conscience to do some damage control…

 

*                      *                      *

 

 Fenrir sat in the circle around the fire. A handful of fat pheasants lay on trays beside it, freshly prepared (nearly raw for everyone but Harry, who was still absent) and about to be cut up by Amoux ready to serve. He sighed to himself, grateful for Echo’s company beside him. Echo knew when to be quiet, when to just be there, he always had.

 

 He was hungry, irritated from the spat with Ulric earlier and unsettled by what had happened to ruin the afterglow of that fantastic sex earlier. The boy was getting under his skin easier and faster than he had anticipated.

 “Your sub not joining us again, Alpha?” Ulric’s aged yet unwavering voice called across the circle, his white hair and hard, lined face illuminated by the firelight. Fenrir tensed, but as his muscles bunched to push him up from where he sat, Echo stood beside him.

 

 “The _sub_ is our alpha numero, do not speak of him with anything less than respect for him and what a gift he is to our kind,” Echo said, loud, firm and blunt. Every eye was on him, filled with reverence. Ulric glared at him for a moment with cold golden eyes, before surrendering and glancing away again.

 

 “Thanks,” Fenrir grunted, only for Echo’s ears as his beta resumed his, his dark eyes on Ulric across the fire still. “I think Ulric has forgotten I’m not without my supporters.”

 

 Echo turned to him, finally tearing his eyes from Ulric, his usually expressionless face betraying a pleasant smile. “They are jealous of Harry, I think. He is a rare find in the world nowadays and he chose you; he will give you children of your own, something every werewolf covets deep in their hearts. Our bodies and instincts are burning to sew our seeds but we can't. You have something all of us can only dream of – it's natural they are jealous.”

 

 Fenrir snorted. “He did choose me, but by the way he looks at me you wouldn't guess it sometimes,” he said, still irritated that the brat had managed to ruin their delicious post-coital bliss earlier.

 

 “Did you think you would get such a gift without a struggle, Alpha?” Echo asked with a hint of amusement playing at his lips. Fenrir growled under his breath, but Echo's smirk only widened. “He is young and new to this, he hasn't exactly had the most steady upbringing either, rumour has it. He has issues for certain, but he'll come around, he wouldn't have chosen you otherwise.”

 

 Fenrir leant back on his arms, staring up at the starry sky and the thick billows of grey cloud that were trying desperately to cover up the moon. The circle was illuminated by the fire as well as the torches scattered around, the soft orange glow accented by hundreds of tiny little fireflies shining overhead. Some of the younger children were staring up at them in delight, even trying to catch them despite how high up they were. It made the most diminutive of smiles touch Fenrir's mouth. But then, movement just beyond the circle made him straighten in his seat. His mate was standing there, just within reach of the orange-hued light. He seemed to hesitate there for a moment, before steeling himself and walking forward.

 

 The effect was instantaneous, everyone stopped to look and Harry froze again, staring at them all, as if willing the ground to open up and swallow him whole. _He doesn't like people staring at him,_ Fenrir noted, as the boy began walking again, faster this time, directly towards him. He stood quickly, as was the custom when the alpha's mate joined a gathering. Echo stood too, followed by a few others and after that, the rest of them followed, rising to their feet with their heads inclined in slight bows of respect.

 

 Harry seemed surprised at the gesture of them all standing and flushed, coming to a halt in front of Fenrir. The boy looked up at him without really meeting his eyes. “I…err…your invitation to dinner,” he began, quietly, but still loud enough for all to hear. Fenrir had the notion that the boy was purposefully doing so, but said nothing, only waited for his mate to find his words.

 

 “I'm…I'm sorry I didn't come before, I didn't know I’d be so…” Harry gazed around at everyone. “Welcome,” he finished. Then, with a wince that only Fenrir saw and a small, preparing intake of breath, he turned his head to the side a fraction and murmured. “Please forgive me, let me sit with you, Alpha.”

 

 A darker rush of colour suffused his mate's face and Fenrir's eyes flew wide in surprise. What was this act? Where had this submission come from? What was the purpose for this display of power exchange? Fenrir couldn't fathom it. Unless...

_He heard what happened earlier,_ Fenrir thought, his brow furrowing. That still didn't make sense entirely, however. What did the boy care if some of the pack rebelled a little? Fenrir would put them in their place again if they dared to step out of line. Their peaceful life here was maintained by sticking to rules their ancestors had agreed to long ago. His job as alpha was to uphold that peace. But the boy was new to his werewolf blood; he couldn’t know all of that. So why?

 

 Fenrir growled under his breath, more out of frustration at his unfathomable mate than any kind of anger and reached out, forcing the boy to look at him once more before quickly releasing him. “Sit,” he said simply, gesturing to the rustic bench he and Echo had just vacated. After only the briefest of hesitations, the boy took a seat and as soon as he did, everyone else followed, seeming to resume their conversations or  tasks from before.

 

Some eyes, however, lingered on his mate even after the chattering resumed and Fenrir could not help but notice the awkward way in which the boy held himself, as if he longed for nothing more than to curl into a ball away from all the attention. With a quick glare at the pack, the staring quickly ceased and he turned to his mate. “I'm glad you came, I can make sure you get a decent amount of food into that scrawny body of yours,” he grumbled.

 

 Submissiveness forgotten, the boy glared at him furiously, a twinge of hurt in those emerald eyes. The firelight danced within them as they hardened with anger, any remainder of submission from his previous display dissipating.

 

 “Fuck you,” Harry muttered vehemently under his breath, for Fenrir's ears only. “It's my body and I'll eat as little or as much as I want. Excuse me if being held hostage put a damper on my appetite.”

 

 Fenrir could not help but smirk at that, his mate was a submissive partner alright but there was nothing submissive about him in the slightest. Any power over him had to be earned, as he had discovered during their handful of encounters with each other's pleasure. This boy refused to break under weeks of Voldemort's torture and would not bend under normal means to him either, even with his wolf's instincts demanding he do so.

 

 Oh yes, he knew why Echo had said he reminded him of Shae. This stubborn little cub wielded power and courage that bigger men could not dream of, so full of pride and selflessness. He was a challenge, one that Fenrir both despaired and delighted in. He licked his lips distractedly, recalling the way the boy had knowingly rutted with him earlier.

 

 “Blimey, have some decency,” the boy muttered, turning away in embarrassment rather than submission now. His voice was still almost inaudibly quiet. “I can _smell_ exactly what you're thinking,” he said, fidgeting. Fenrir could sense the smallest spike of arousal through the mortification and the way the boy gripped the bench beneath his legs.

 

 “Your senses are growing stronger,” Fenrir noted, drawing that brilliant green gaze back to him. “It's a sign of how powerful you are. Usually it takes newly turned werewolves months to reach their full potential, nearly a year in most cases. If your senses are already improving I imagine it won't be long before you harness your magic.”

 

 Harry's excitement piqued at that and he visibly sat up straighter. He missed magic and loathed being unable to defend himself, Fenrir realised. He growled silently to himself. The idea that his mate was suffering the kind of wretched helplessness that he himself detested didn't sit well with him at all.

 

 “This is just a vulnerable time for you, you know,” he murmured awkwardly, not really knowing how to reassure him. He didn’t like the uncharacteristic softness that reached his voice when he spoke to the boy, it made him feel… _weak_. “It doesn't help that you don't have your wand to tide you over until you come into your powers properly, or that you haven't completed our bond but it’ll pass. You're not weak. I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise.”

 

 Harry was glaring again. “Well, cheers,” he growled, before he seemed to realise just what he was complaining about. “I know I'm not weak, but I _am_ helpless, I can't even bloody go where I want to go. I can't go home–”

 

 “This _is_ your home,” Fenrir interrupted him. “And no one forced you to stay in that den all day but you. Everyone else is more than eager to welcome you–”

 

 “I don't want to be welcomed!” Harry hissed, again still under his breath, as if he were conscious of the others hearing. “Can't you understand? I can't… I _won't_ allow myself to…” He grit his teeth, infuriated by his own inarticulateness. “I _can’t_ belong here. I can’t belong anywhere right now. Nowhere is safe until I finish what I started.”

 

 Fenrir grumbled in frustration, scratching the back of his neck. “And if I hadn’t sworn on your blood, if I did let you go, that would make you happy, would it? To throw yourself into harms way and get yourself killed? You _can’t_ kill _Him,_ pet, he’s stronger than you are. He’ll tear you to shreds and make all of your little friends watch as he does, will that make you happy at last?”

 

 The boy shook his head exhaustedly. “What does it matter?”

 

 Fenrir growled again. “Why do you make me out to be your enemy when I’m trying to keep you safe? Don’t you realise that I don’t make a habit of catering to wayward cubs?” he snapped tersely. “I don’t allow myself to be turfed out of my own bed by just anyone, or put up with so much fickle shit either. I’m offering you what you’ve longed for all your bloody life and you’re being an ungrateful little brat.”

 

 Harry recoiled at that, turning to look at the fire where Amoux was now serving their meal into bowls. There were fresh vegetables and cooked meat in a bowl for Harry, Fenrir noted and he swore he heard the boy’s belly growl at the smell of it, even in his current mood.

 

 “I know,” Harry said at last, “and even though I keep telling you I don’t _want_ what you’re offering, I do realise what trouble I’m causing for you.”

 

 Fenrir could not help but notice the way his gaze drifted to where Ulric sat across the circle, casting speculative glances at the pair of them every now and then.

 

 “I came out here trying to do some damage control but you’re such a shit-stirring arse, you just can’t help yourself and you’re making it all worse.” Harry bit his lip for a moment, then steeled himself to turn back to face him. “I can’t help but react to you, you get my back up without even bloody trying. You’re so… _obscene;_ I think you like making me uncomfortable and you just make me lose my temper every time you open your mouth!” His voice was a low hiss when he finished and Fenrir was grinning by the end, causing that now familiar irritated frown to crease his mate’s forehead.

 

 “What the bloody hell are you smirking at?” Harry demanded.

 

 Fenrir chuckled. “Oh, baby, I get more than your back up,” he whispered insinuatingly, his eyes flicking down the boy’s body so that he couldn’t possibly misinterpret his meaning. That skin flushed again and he caught his mate’s chin to hold his head in place before he could turn away. “I get under your skin because you want me, pet, don’t be ashamed of it.”

 

 Harry's lips parted with a retort, but before words could leave him, Amoux was before them, pressing two generous sized bowls into their hands. “The Alpha pair are served first,” Amoux said kindly when Harry glanced around questioningly. “I cooked yours especially, and put in some vegetables to keep you healthy. We usually only use the vegetables here for flavour in stews and such but your body still needs their sustenance.”

 

 

 

 Harry stared at her. Her face was lined with the proof of her years but round and sweet. Her eyes shone with unconditional love for everything she surveyed. She looked nothing like Mrs Weasley and yet Harry could not help but be reminded of her. He nodded thankfully and looked down at his mouth-watering meal – he only just realised how hungry he was now that food was in front of him.

 

 “Thank you,” he said awkwardly, not knowing what more to say to one of the members of this ‘family’ that so wanted to welcome him into their arms. It just wasn’t easy for him to accept, he was only _just_ accustomed to the Weasley family’s love for him after all these years.

 

 The rest of the bowls were handed out quickly and Harry noticed that it wasn’t until Amoux sat down beside the little boy, Vilkas that anyone moved to touch their food. Fenrir took action first, lifting his bowl slightly in thanks before tucking in. The adults tore meat from the bone with their teeth while the children ate happily at thick juicy slices of near-raw meat. Harry meanwhile, had been provided with a knife and fork. Had they acquired these from the village just for him like they had his clothes? He flushed at the thought.

 

 “What’s the matter?” Greyback asked with his mouth full, swallowing hard as he eyed Harry's expression sceptically.

 

 Harry shrugged and hid his face by focussing on cutting his beautifully cooked pheasant. “I’m just… I hope no one went out of their way for me, that’s all,” he said, popping some of the meat into his mouth. He barely withheld the groan that longed to leave him at the taste. It was delicious!

 

 “You’re not used to it,” Greyback noted, drawing Harry's gaze back to him, “people making an effort for you, taking care of you.”

 

 Harry looked at him for a moment but said nothing, simply continued to eat in silence. He did _not_ want to go down the road of discussing the Dursleys with Fenrir Greyback of all people, no matter if the fucked up fates had sought to bind them together. He didn’t even really talk about his life at Privet Drive with Ron or Hermione; he certainly wasn’t about to get into it now.

 

 Harry finished his meal pretty much last and no sooner than he’d finished than Amoux caught his gaze

 

 “I hope you enjoyed it? I haven’t had to cook for someone with human tastes for so long.”

 

 Harry shifted awkwardly where he sat again, but managed a smile for her – she seemed to just draw them out of people. “It was delicious. I can’t remember the last time I ate something so good.”

 

 She beamed. “You are a sweetheart,” she said, but her words were punctuated by an awful, chilling howl from nearby. Harry froze. The sound carried through the night, an eerie, unsettling cry that no one else seemed to notice but him. He glanced around, trying to sense anything unusual on the air, but his nose could not smell anything beyond the circle, there were too many scents he wasn’t used to for him to pick anything new out.

 

 Then, another howl ripped through the darkness, right near them this time. Harry's head spun on his neck until he felt it _click_ and there he saw them. Dozens of bright golden eyes shone in the darkness, coming closer and closer. Instinctively, he reached for his wand, before realising it wasn’t there and when he began to stand, Greyback set a large hand on his shoulder, stilling him.

 

 “Relax, pet,” Greyback assured him, his tone gruff and coarse once again. Once Harry had turned to look at him, he let go of his shoulder and picked up a tankard from beside his foot on the ground, taking a deep swig from it. “You wanted to know what was guarding the ‘wrong turns’ in the tunnels?” the alpha said after a deep drink, “ _They_ are the ones that guard them. They’re our pack too, they come to camp at night to eat.”

 

 Harry turned to see a few dozen wolves coming into the circle, moving towards the centre where food was being laid out for them. They seemed to be everyday wolves, each varying in colouring but all entirely normal. Normal but still unnerving, especially when illuminated by nothing but the orange light of the fire and torches in the dark.

 

 Eyeing them all cautiously, Harry noticed a large black wolf ambling over to where Vilkas was setting down a bowl of food. He couldn’t help the lurch of warning he felt surging in his belly and he flew to his feet as the beast stopped. The beast stood taller than the toddler and was eyeing him in a way Harry didn’t like when the boy took too long to set the food down. The wolf bowed his head and Harry made to move forwards, to stop the inevitable attack, but a large hand caught his wrist and he whirled on his feet to face Greyback.

 

 “Like I told you the other day, they won’t hurt us. They’re part of our family,” he explained with the air of someone who simply couldn’t comprehend Harry’s fear. He punctuated his words by gesturing to where the wolf was now sniffing at the little boy’s ear interestedly. Vilkas giggled, patting the big canine clumsily before dropping the bowl at his feet. To Harry's surprise, the sudden movement only made the wolf jump a bit, before it bowed its head to begin eating.

 

 “It’s not like humans and their pet dogs,” Greyback said, urging Harry to retake his seat, though Harry remained standing. “They understand us because of what we are, they know us. We are their pack.”

 

 Harry frowned in confusion, pulling his hand subtly yet quickly from Greyback’s grasp. “You can talk to them?” he asked, his interest pique. “Will I be able to talk to them?”

 

 Greyback smirked, not for the first nor last time that night. “We can, more or less. We use body language more than words, but yeah, you’ll be able to. I can teach you.”

 

 Harry felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect, remembering the delight he’d experienced when he realised that python at the zoo could understand him. That was before he’d known that it meant he had a connection to Voldemort, of course. “I can speak to snakes, you know,” he said, without thinking.

 

 Greyback raised a brow. “I’d heard. Show me.”

 

 “I need something snake-like to focus on, I can’t really call it at will – I don’t even realise I’m doing it half the time. It doesn’t feel like another language,” he said, not knowing really how to explain it better than that. To his surprise, however, Greyback nodded understandingly.

 

 “That’s what it’s like to speak to wolves,” he said simply, but anything further he was about to add was drowned out by a horrendous snarl and a sharp, piercing cry of pain. Harry whirled around to see the large, dark wolf that had been so docile a moment ago with Vilkas, now towering over a considerably smaller, pale grey wolf. The latter was an adolescent, Harry guessed from his size, his only conscious thought before he lurched forwards to its defence.

 

 “He’s not going to be seriously hurt,” Ulric said gruffly as he got to his feet, angling himself slightly so that he was nearly obstructing Harry's view of the tussle on the ground. Behind Harry, Greyback and Echo rose too at the challenge. Deep down, Harry _knew_ somehow that it was because he, Harry was an alpha too and he was being challenged by the very way Ulric was standing.

 

 Harry frowned, his body humming with discomfort at the aggressive way the man was standing. He’d never been so in tune with body language before, but just by looking at the older wolf, he knew that he was loathed and coveted at the same time. He didn’t like it.

 

 Squaring his shoulders and feeling Greyback at his back, he stalked past Ulric as if he hadn’t heard him, towards the place were the small grey wolf had scrambled away from the black, only to be snapped at by three others. He was effectively trapped. Harry's heart clenched at the sound he made. Perhaps he was reminded of himself as an infant, being battered from all angles by Dudley and his mates. It didn’t matter. It had to stop.

 

 “He’s the omega!” Ulric snapped, whirling to keep his eyes on him as Harry moved passed him, “And the runt to boot; it’s the way things are–”

 

 “It’s _bullying,_ ” Harry cut across him, not even casting a glance back at the older man, “and I won’t allow it.” He sensed unease ripple through the circle, heard each sharp intake of bated breath at his words. He forced himself to _feel_ his façade of confidence down to the core and stalked into the throng of wolves now scrapping on the ground. He was not afraid of them now; he knew Greyback had been telling the truth. They would not hurt him.

 

 “Enough!” he snarled, throwing his arms out to swat the air, shooing them away. They scattered at his presence, heads and ears down, watching him as they backed away, leaving the runt in the centre. Golden eyes stared up at Harry uncertainly, but the runt didn’t dare move. Harry lowered himself onto his level, trying to keep his body friendly so as not to scare him any further.

 

 The wolf was small but definitely an adult, scrawny and weak. He reminded Harry frighteningly of himself when he had first started at Hogwarts. He’d been wary, uncertain of the world, afraid and small but sure that there must have been something more to the world than the misery and neglect of Privet Drive. He smiled warmly, an unintentional purring croon leaving his lips.

 

 The wolf’s ears pricked in surprise. Briefly shocked by the sound that had left his own lips without his permission, Harry made the calming sound again, intentionally this time before gathering the scrawny wolf awkwardly into his arms. When he got to his feet holding the animal, however he not only found everyone watching him, but also Ulric standing between him and his seat.

 

 “You’re messing with the order of things, boy,” he said with a warning in his tone that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck prickle. This man could not speak to him like this, could he? But before Harry could contemplate it further, Echo had shoved Ulric aside, his teeth bared.

 

 “Who are you calling ‘boy’?” Echo snarled in disgust, shoving Ulric again for good measure to push him completely from Harry's proximity. “He is your alpha numero, show some respect. You know what he is to us. Now sit down before your alpha puts you down. I’d wager you won’t be getting up this time.” His words made Harry glance over to Greyback whose eyes were dark and livid, hard with barely restrained fury. Harry caught sight of the little ones near the fire with Amoux and had the impression that Greyback’s only reason for not making an example of Ulric was their presence; the thought comforted him more than he’d like.

 

 But then he realised how bad his attempt play the good sub had been. _I got lost in playing the hero again, Hermione,_ he thought, his heart clenching slightly at the thought of his friends. He wondered what they were doing now.

 

 “I’m only saying,” Ulric began, his voice softer this time, tinged with subjugation, “that things are this way for a reason. It’s _nature_ and the _Alpha Numero,_ has not had time to get used to things yet.” He looked to Harry, who still had his arms full of the runt wolf. “He has a soft heart.”

 

 “He has a good heart,” Amoux said from the fireside defensively, startling Harry with her support. “We are lucky to have an alpha pair who care for us all, even the smallest of us,” she said, her head raised.

 

 _I seem to have divided this pack somehow just by being here,_ Harry thought. He saw Ulric open his mouth to argue back, but Greyback’s voice cut across the entire circle.

 

 “Enough!” he snarled, glaring for a moment at Ulric, before meeting Harry's eyes. His face was completely unreadable. “Let the boy keep the cub, it might help to remind those of you who are still unclear on the point that my mate is your alpha too now and his will is law, as is mine.” Greyback gave him a lingering look, before resuming his seat and taking a deep swig from his tankard once more.

 

 Slowly, the tranquil yet cheerful atmosphere seemed to kindle back to life, breathed back into the circle on a passing breeze and Harry made his way back to Greyback’s side, caressing the head of the runt wolf once he had settled. The creature looked up at him curiously, as if assessing him and Harry could not help but smile. “You’re alright now,” Harry assured him quietly, running the flat of his palm over the wolf’s sides and neck to see if he was wounded.

 

 “So the rumours are true,” Greyback mused into his tankard, drawing Harry's eyes to him. The werewolf was watching him over his drink. “You do having a saving people thing.” Harry raised his chin defensively, verging on a sharp retort but Greyback headed him off. “He’s not had any open wounds in a while,” he reassured him, gesturing to the wolf.

 

 “What’s his name?” Harry asked, awkward upon realising what Fenrir had just done for him. He felt suddenly embarrassed and very conscious that the werewolf was staring at his face, trying to catch his gaze.

 

 “Ghost,” Fenrir said, still seeming to be gauging his mood. “The silver of his coat,” he grunted by way of explanation.

 

 “The colour of ghosts,” Harry murmured in understanding, thinking back to Hogwarts and Nearly Headless Nick. A pang of homesickness growled deep in his full, sated belly like a misplaced hunger. He hoped Hogwarts was holding its ground without him, Ron and Hermione there to help defend it.

 

 A long few moments passed in which Greyback swigged at his drink and Harry caressed Ghost's head tentatively where lay in his lap. The wolf wasn't physically hurt, no, but he was nervous and skinny – so skinny. Harry leant down to grab his bowl and offered the leftovers to the omega. Amoux had overcompensated for his own skinniness on Greyback's orders and given him far too much.

 

 The runt’s golden eyes watched him cautiously, as if he expected to be struck if he reached for the meal but after a moment or two, the creature's hunger seemed to win out. Harry smiled as the fragile little thing leant forward and devoured what was left ravenously, nearly choking himself in his haste.

 

 “Slow down,” Harry said soothingly, running his hands across the creature's back as it sat back from the empty bowl, licking at its mouth. “Poor thing, he's half starved.”

 

 “We've been keeping an eye on him,” Greyback said, causing Harry to look back at him with an almost accusing look in his eyes. “Don't look at me like that, boy. They aren't dogs or pets, they’re a pack too and while ours is a little more equal, their section of it is ruled by nature and their own alphas, who in turn answer to us.” He considered Harry carefully for a moment before adding, “Men and wizards have done enough damage by interfering with nature. We've lived through that devastation and have learned to minimize the negative impact we have on the world around us wherever possible.”

 Harry scowled. “But you said the wolves were part of your pack too, that makes them your responsibility,” he argued, again careful to keep his voice down. He didn't want to damage Greyback's world anymore than he already had, after all he would soon be away from here.

 

 “I wouldn't have let him die,” Greyback snarled, offended.

 

 “This kind of bullying can feel like worse than death,” Harry murmured darkly. He looked down at Ghost who had relaxed with his head on Harry’s lap again, but with his eyes staring up at him, still a little wary. Harry knew somehow that he was only being awarded this amount of trust from the weak creature because he was (technically) an alpha as well, thanks to Greyback's unwanted mark. He wondered what Ron and Hermione would say to the fact that he, Harry was one half of an alpha pair in a werewolf pack. He winced, imagining their reactions and petted the wolf absently, thinking.

 

 Beside him, Greyback grunted in frustrated surrender and tossed his now empty tankard onto the floor in irritation. “And if I said that I’ve never experienced that, being what I am? If said I was mistaken would that get rid of that shitty attitude of yours?” He demanded with a growl. “Would that make you happy?”

 

 Harry sighed. “What does it matter?” he asked tiredly. What _did_ it matter? He was beginning to understand after seeing Ghost tonight and after seeing that even Ulric (as disgusted and infuriated by his actions as he was) had not touched him. Ulric had also backed away, shown respect to Echo,a man far smaller than him. It was about rank, about body language more than size and perhaps even strength.

 

 Greyback had said it himself – Harry was an alpha too. _He also said that the only hope I had of getting out of here was if someone else let me out_ , he thought, plotting.

 

 

 

 For some time the alpha pair sat side-by-side in silence, until at last, as the younger children were scurried away toward the dens, Fenrir too watched his mate politely excused himself. The boy’s mind was clearly somewhere else as he disappeared back into the den, the runt wolf hot on his heels. Satisfied that the attention of the pack was engaged elsewhere, Fenrir sighed and cupped his face with one hand, dragging his fingers across it in exasperation.

 

 “Things will take time, Alpha,” Echo said quietly from his side. Fenrir sat up straight again, eyeing him sceptically. He watched as Echo’s mouth quirked up in the slightest of smirks, before the man continued, “he’s young and troubled with the weight of the world on his shoulders – inexperienced in most things, including his own wishes.”

 

 Fenrir took the second tankard of mead his beta offered him without pause, swigging it back gratefully.

 

 “And on top of everything, his wolf has only recently awoken,” Echo murmured, “Beneath his brusque façade he is a vulnerable young man that needs to be courted, to be shown how life here is everything he has ever dreamed of and more. He can’t be _told,_ Alpha.”

 

 Fenrir grumbled irritably, chucking back another swig of mead. “I knew I needed to take my time with him but I expected him to be a bit less _fickle_ than this,” Fenrir griped. “He changes his mind with the bloody wind.”

 

 “I think you will find the quickest way to happiness is compromise; bite your tongue now and make the effort to see things from his point of view. Make an effort for him in general. The best rewards are usually those that are hard won,” Echo said quietly, almost conspiratorially.

 

 Fenrir’s brow furrowed. “What do you suggest?” he asked uncertainly.

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	8. Blood's Song

.: Chapter Eight :.

Blood’s Song

 

 

 

 Harry awoke groggily the next morning surrounded in comforting warmth and clinging to oblivious slumber, as he never had before. For a moment he didn't know where he was, but it was cosy and safe. He had never felt so safe before. That thought caused a frown to crease his forehead and his lashes fluttered on his cheeks, his mind slowly awakening as well as his body. He was lying on his side on a bed of plush furs, a blanket draped over him and early morning light glowed subtly in the columns decorating the room. But as he turned to lie flat on his back, his heart stopped. Fenrir Greyback was lying beside him, a scant inch away, fast asleep with his body stretched out, dwarfing Harry’s body easily.

 

 Swallowing nervously, Harry slid up a fraction. He spied Ghost asleep on the furs by the lifeless fire and looked back to Greyback uncertainly, still frowning. There was something odd about the werewolf this morning. It wasn’t just how peaceful his face looked in slumber, or even the fact that the bastard was completely naked alongside him and radiating intense heat even in sleep. Harry's cheeks did flush at the sight, however. But no, it was something else that was odd, something _different_.

 

 Suddenly, his eyes widened with realisation. Greyback's skin was still tanned as ever but there was a clean, fresh glow to it and though he still smelled musky and hot, the scent tickling Harry's nostrils was unmistakeably tinted with the oils he himself had used in the bath yesterday. But he distinctly remembered Greyback hadn't used them when he was in the bath with him. His flush darkened at the memory of what had distracted the git.

 

 The length of that dark, silvery hair had been tackled and currently lay swept back, also clean and trimmed if he wasn't mistaken. Just as his rough, untamed short beard had been tamed. Light, short and expertly cut stubble now framed the wolf's face, making him look… Harry swallowed again, his throat tight. The man was all clean, trimmed and tight muscled, the epitome of masculinity and it made Harry's skin prickle with unwelcome appreciation. He'd never had this feeling about girls before. Did this make him gay?

 

 Had this only just happened since he'd ‘rutted’ with Greyback? Or had what had happened with Greyback just opened his eyes to feelings he'd been having for a while? He gazed at the way that short stubble trailed up over the man's top lip. It had been scratchy and rough before and he cursed himself as he recalled he hadn't entirely hated the sensation.

 

 Without thinking, he reached forwards, trailing the pad of his thumb over the corner of the man's mouth, feeling the shape of his jaw, his stubble smooth and pleasantly tickly against his skin. He followed the curve of his jaw all the way around, then back again to touch just under that mouth that had ravaged him so thoroughly more than once. _He neatened himself up for me,_ Harry could not help but realise. Though before the werewolf had been nothing like the creature Harry had seen on the astronomy tower the night Dumbledore had died, _now_ he was…

 

 “Enjoying the view?”

 

 Harry jumped, coming back to reality to see two piercing blue eyes staring up at him. He gasped and dragged his hand back, only to have his wrist caught mid-flight in of Greyback's large hands. He'd been caught and Harry's skin flared red with mortification. “I… You…” His tongue darted out to dampen his suddenly dry lips as he stumbled over his words. “You didn't look like this that night on the tower,” he eventually said. He wanted to tear his eyes away from that penetrating gaze but was afraid of the sight that lay further north.

 

 Greyback smirked, rolling onto his side and hauling Harry closer by his captured wrist, until he was pulled tight against Greyback’s body. The sheet was the only thing between them, still draped over Harry's body. Harry gasped and froze, not wanting to squirm and brush up against Greyback’s morning hardness.

 

 “You like that I neatened myself up for you, don’t you, pet?” he growled softly, tugging Harry in closer and inhaling at his throat deeply. “I can smell how much you like it.”

 

 Harry just lay there, stunned momentarily by the thrill of arousal that rippled through his body. His mouth hung open with a soundless groan and his head hung limp on his shoulder. With every breath he inhaled Greyback’s masculine, musky scent and his blush returned as he felt his body react unbidden to the brute’s proximity. How was it that the arsehole knew how to play his body so flawlessly?

 

 “Yesterday,” Greyback growled huskily against his throat, breaking the silence that had hung thick in the air for a good few minutes. “Yesterday, with that runt–”

 

 “With Ghost,” Harry interrupted, trying to sound irritated but finding his voice was far too breathy. He could feel Greyback’s soft bristles tickling his adam’s apple as the beast mouthed his throat between breaths.

 

 “I saw…I realised that this mask of bravery you put on for the world isn’t just some act. It’s real but it’s still something you hide behind. You’ve always been hiding, but when you're beneath me like this, you can't hide and _that’s_ why you’re so afraid of staying here. You’re terrified of realising how much you want me, how much you want this life with me.” He punctuated his words with a feral sound of pleasure against Harry’s jaw, leaning up so that his face was scant centimetres from Harry's, his breath dusting those slightly parted lips.

 

 “You can’t get enough of me, admit it,” Greyback all-but purred, leaning up to wordlessly push Harry onto his back so that he was now hovering above him. He growled in appreciation at the sight of Harry, the sheet having fallen to lie just above Harry's pubic bone. He ran the large flat of his palm down the length of Harry's taut, slender torso, all the way down and then up again, then down, then up, caressing every contour of flesh.

 

 “Roll onto your side,” Greyback urged him huskily, his long fingers still caressing Harry's flanks. Harry exhaled heavily, his chest heaving under Greyback’s hot palm as it urged him onto his side. Now he was laying with his back against Greyback’s front, that hard, heavy cock pressing against his arse. He gasped, thankful for the sheet between them. The werewolf nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. “Oh, you smell so good when you’re hot for me,” he panted, nipping at Harry's earlobe to finish his sentence.

 

 Harry hissed, his head pressing into the furs instinctively to expose more of his neck to that devilish mouth. That hand slid down a final time, dipping beneath the sheet to ghost over Harry's hardening shaft. Harry groaned, squirming under the sheet, grinding his head into the furs, his toes curling. Greyback pressed harder against him, his breath dusting over Harry's ear. “That’s it,” he breathed and tugged the sheet away from Harry's body.

 

 Skin slid deliciously over skin. Greyback’s hairy chest pressed against his back as his hot erection slid up the valley between Harry's cheeks. That large hand was on his chest again now, pinning him against the larger body behind him. “Roll your hips with me, pet,” Greyback whispered, gripping Harry's hip to hold him tight to his body as he began to flex his own hips, grinding his prick into him.

 

 Harry groaned. The familiar fever Greyback incited in his blood was already beginning to spread through him like an all-consuming wildfire. His heart was starting to pound harder, sending his boiling blood coursing through his body, right down to the tips of his curling toes. How could this be turning him on so much? His cock wasn’t even being touched! It was all pressure against his arse, the regular, rocking rhythm so intense that his hole was clenching hungrily – wanting. And all the while his neglected cock was rising, twitching urgently in desperation for attention.

 

 Suddenly the sheet was completely ripped away from him, leaving him writhing and naked, arching back against Greyback’s body with his morning glory weeping clear globules of pre-emission.

 

 “Oh, yes,” Greyback growled in his ear, catching the lobe between his teeth, his tongue dancing across it again just the way Harry liked. The werewolf reached down then, pulling Harry's leg up high, gripping him under the knee and holding it tight to his torso so that the morning air kissed Harry's clenching hole.

 

 Harry groaned, his head pressing hard into the furs, trying to escape and find some sort of release to his thrill at the same time.

 

 “Come on, pet, show me all your pretty little pink parts,” Greyback breathed, adjusting his position so that he could see Harry's flushed cock, while his own heavy erection slid deliciously over Harry's entrance with tantalising friction. “You’re very honest this morning, pet. I don’t think that infuriatingly misplaced morality of yours has quite woken up yet.”

 

 Harry turned his head into the furs to hide his face, feeling Greyback’s chuckle against his hair. He could feel his arse clenching hungrily each time the bastard’s prick slid over him, pre-come lubricating the path it took along his cleft, lighting an insatiable fire within him with every stroke, again and again. He groaned again, his hips moving without permission.

 

 “How do you want it this morning?” Greyback teased him, the swollen tip of his vast cock gliding along Harry's perineum, pressing into that delicious place just under his balls at the peak of each flex of his hips. “Do you want to taste my cock? Do you want me to rub myself off on you like this? Or do you want me in your arse, practicing breeding you?” There was such dark, forbidden promise in those words and Harry shook his head, unable to focus his conscious mind. This was too new and powerful, his not long deflowered body still unused to such overwhelming carnal bliss – right or wrong.

 

 With his blood churning like a ferocious tide in his veins, singing with Greyback’s coarse, husky voice he gave in and reached down, squeezing his own aching cock in desperation. It pulsed in his hand and Greyback growled fiercely in his ear, his thrusts hastening between Harry's cheeks at the sight of it.

 

 “Oh, that’s it pet, good boy, touch yourself for me while I rut against your pretty little arse…”

 

 Harry tugged his foreskin down, exposing his purpled head to the cool air and hissing at the pleasure. He swiped his thumb over the sensitive slit, once, twice, three times, his hips jerking with each sweep and he spread the slick pre-come there down his shaft to moisten his thrusts. It felt so good and naughty, forbidden; too right to be wrong. He rocked forwards into his hand and back into Greyback alternately, playing that delectable line of taut flesh just under his helmet that made his balls tighten and arse clench.

 

 Like a man possessed, he writhed in the werewolf’s embrace, the beast inside him howling with hunger in his veins. He was starved of this carnal pleasure, starved of undivided affection and unwavering protection and in a moment of pure clarity, he knew that Greyback could give it to him, was the only one strong enough to do so. This was why the wolf inside chose him and Harry could deny that he wanted Greyback, but he _did_ want everything that was being offered. He longed for it with a maddening appetite that intensified every other emotion and sensation to the point of explosion.

 

 “Going…to… _burst_!” Harry panted, his free hand gripping the furs hard. It was too intense. His stomach was clenching painfully with need, as were his full bollocks. He swore Greyback was getting bigger and harder where he thrust along his now soaked cleft.

 

 Suddenly, Greyback flipped him over onto his back, descending on him with a feral snarl and grinding his large, throbbing hardness against Harry's own cock. Harry stared up at the man who was now nothing like the shaggy beast he had met on the tower, the monster with matted hair and pointed brown teeth, reeking of dirt, sweat and blood. Greyback had looked healthier and more striking even when Harry had awoken to find himself the werewolf’s prisoner. But now, with every sensation incited by those large hands sending him rushing towards a crescendo of pleasure, he found every part of himself tightening at the sight of the creature above him.

 

 Fuck – he was aroused by the sight of Fenrir Greyback!

 

 The wolf snarled in ecstasy, reaching down and seizing both of their erections, pumping them hard and fast, sending them both hurtling towards the precipice of their climax. Harry's hand flew down, clamping tight around Greyback’s wrist but doing nothing to stop him as those thick fingers wrought his arousal from him hard and fast. The pearly-white pleasure splashed over both of them as he cried out, his eyes shut tight and hips rolling uncontrollably as he rode out his orgasm.

 

 With his chest heaving and sharp zings of bliss bolting through his every limb in the dazzling bright aftermath, Harry lay there limp and sweaty. His hand was still locked around Greyback’s wrist as the alpha continued to pump their erections together, milking Harry of every last drop while chasing his own end.

 

 “Good boy,” Greyback panted hoarsely, rutting against Harry insatiably, drawing out Harry's pleasure whilst seeking his own. He came with thick ropes of come spurting from between his fingers, painting Harry's own still-hard cock and lower belly. Still flexing his hips slightly, still breathing hard, Greyback slid the tips of their cocks together so that their slits were kissing.

 Harry's eyes flew open, his hot, damp flesh, almost painfully sensitive with post-orgasmic sensation and he looked down to see Greyback bringing his own foreskin up with the stoke of his hand and around the hot, still pulsing head of Harry's cock. The werewolf paused, looking at him briefly, before rolling Harry’s foreskin over his own helmet and then repeating it. Their combined come slicked his strokes, creating the most delicious sensation of the like Harry had never even dreamed of.

 

 The post-coital teasing continued. Greyback tugged their tender flesh gently over each of their still throbbing organs, rolling them back and forth, alternately hiding and exposing both of their damp, pink tips. Harry jerked in that hand, his responsive cock pinched inside the silk heat of Greyback’s slick skin. The pleasure was so intense he wanted to roll his head back and cry out, but he could not tear his eyes away. This was too hot.

 

 Panting heavily, he kept his eyes on those fingers and their joined cocks as Greyback continued to manipulate them. He shivered in Greyback’s fingers, unable to stop rocking into him. Then at last, the last of the spiralling pleasure of their orgasms began to die away and Greyback released them both. He continued to hold Harry's gaze, however, lapping their come off his hand before dipping his head to Harry's groin with an animalistic, dominating glow in his blue eyes.

 

 Harry gasped. “Too – too sensitive!” he protested, as Greyback’s tongue lapped up the evidence of their early morning romp. The bastard came back up to Harry's level with a smirk, nuzzling into the marked side of Harry's throat and inhaling deeply with a satisfied growl.

 

 “Hmmm, you smell so good,” the werewolf breathed. “I like you covered in me.”

 

 Harry's breath hitched. He shifted awkwardly, reaching for the sheet and pulling it over him. Greyback sat back with a derisive smirk. “Ah, your shyness has woken up at last has it? Well, it missed one hell of a party,” Greyback mused, getting to his feet. He stretched as he stood, allowing Harry an uninterrupted view of that expanse of muscle and the power that rippled through every inch of it. He swallowed, horrified to find himself oddly attracted to this man, especially now with his beard trimmed, his hair tamed. He flushed darkly and seized the shirt and trousers he swore he had been wearing when he fell asleep, quickly redressing under the sheet.

 

 “And how did you enjoy your first night as the Alpha Numero's favourite?” Greyback asked the adolescent wolf that was still lying on the furs by the cold fire, now awake and watching them carefully.

 

 Harry jumped out of bed, his limbs still feeling a tad like jelly as he moved over to where Ghost lay. “Morning,” he beamed at the wolf, petting him carefully, delighted when his affection was answered by a small wag of a tail.

 

 “I decided to assign him to guarding you instead of guarding the tunnels with the others,” Greyback murmured, eyeing their exchange thoughtfully. “When he's fed up a bit he'll be strong enough.” Greyback leant down then, his large hand sweeping down over Ghost's head gently and brushing over Harry's mid-stroke. His hand stopped.

 

 Harry jerked slightly, that seemingly insignificant touch was somehow more intimate than anything that had just happened on the bed of furs behind him. He inhaled sharply and tugged his hand away, but could not deny the static that had pulsed through him at the touch, or the way that their eyes had locked at the same time.

 

 “If you’re taking responsibility for him you can’t stay shut up in here for the rest of your life,” Greyback said brusquely, as if trying to cover up the moment they had just shared. He felt awkward too, Harry realised. He stood too, thinking distantly that he didn’t like how much taller Greyback was than him; it gave him an even greater advantage that Harry didn’t care for.

 

 “Sorry,” Harry muttered sarcastically, “it wasn’t until yesterday that I realised my prison extended beyond this den. Will you draw a line in the ground outside to show far I can go?” His tone was biting, a tool to incite an argument that would eradicate the remaining post-orgasm, post-intimate haze that still clung to his mind. It made him feel uncomfortable to think of how easily he had surrendered to this man this morning. It frightened him.

 

 _I need to get away from here,_ he thought. _Now._

 

 “If Azkaban was as nice as this ‘prison’ you’re in, I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave,” Greyback snarled venomously. “I saw things in there that made even _my_ skin crawl. Trust me, boy, if you’d so much of glimpsed the inside of a real prison you’d see you have nothing to complain about.”

 

 Harry scowled. “Don’t call me boy.”

 

 “You’re determined to be miserable even though I’m throwing everything you have ever wanted at your bloody feet! I’ve even given you the ‘out’ of blaming me to save your wretched conscience.” Greyback glowered at him and Harry could not help but feel the urge to shrink back a fraction and bare his throat. He restrained the instinct. Ghost, however, _did_ shrink back to lie perfectly flat on the ground, as if desperate to not draw attention to himself. His bright eyes looked up at Harry urgently, as if urging him to do the same thing.

 

 “You really think tidying yourself up physically for me is enough to want to make me stay?” Harry demanded hotly, ignoring the imploring call of his instincts to back down. “There are more important things than you and me right now in this world–”

 

 “Nothing is more important than the pack or your mate, that is the absolute law of a werewolf – and you _are one_ ,” Greyback added when Harry opened his mouth to deny it. “You’re a gift to our species, to me and I’ve no intention of letting you run off to your death.”

 

 Harry stared at him for a few moments in shock, a flush touching his face and then scoffed aloud, glancing away uncomfortably. “From anyone else in any other context that could have been considered quite sentimental Fenrir Greyback,” he snorted.

 

 Greyback’s glower intensified and he stepped forwards, spanning the gap between them. The sudden movement made Harry glance up at him quickly. There was an odd glimmer in those azure eyes. Then abruptly, that mouth framed by neatly trimmed stubble quirked into an animalistic smirk. “If those words had come from anyone other than Harry Potter I’d have ripped their throat out,” he murmured, but the words were spoken with such husky desire, they could have easily been a sexual promise.

 

 Harry inhaled sharply, taking a step back from him. He had to get away. He could not allow himself to be seduced again. “I…I’m going for a walk,” he muttered, marching quickly over to the door.

 

 “Wait,” Greyback said sharply, halting Harry just as his hand touched the door to the den. Greyback said nothing else and so Harry steeled himself, turning to face him. “Take this,” the werewolf muttered, draping the familiar fur cloak around Harry's shoulders. “Your dainty little body can’t endure the cold like mine can, your immune system will grow along with the rest of your wolf abilities.”

 

 Harry stared at him, pulling the cloak tight around his shoulders. Even if the bastard was only considering his health and happiness to ensure the fitness of his breeding entity, Harry couldn’t help but feel discomfited by Greyback’s concern. “Right, err… Come on Ghost,” he called, pushing the door open and hurrying out into the fresh morning air, Ghost close behind him. He could feel Greyback’s eyes on him all the way.

 

 Everyone was busy with their morning tasks, the subs seeing to their young at the circle, helping them to eat breakfast. Harry didn’t pause to see what they were eating, or to consider that he was quite hungry himself. He’d been planning this since last night and he had to go through with it before someone stopped him. Or more pressingly, before his slowly growing, unreasonable connection to Greyback caused him to reconsider his plan. Part of him (the wolf part) wanted to stay and indulge in this private paradise. He couldn’t allow it to happen, he would lose himself if he did.

 

 Swallowing hard, he moved passed those gathered in the circle for breakfast and put his senses to the test for the first time. He followed his nose along the scent trail of the one he was looking for. Perhaps his senses were growing or perhaps the fact that the man was separate from the others made it easier for Harry to track him, but he found Marrok by the great gate, Larentia at his side.

 

 Marrok (despite his muscles and his size) was the omega; Fenrir had said it himself hadn’t he? He was the weakest link, his last way out…

 

 “Marrok?!” He called, his voice filled with a confidence that did not touch his nervous, quivering insides. The dark-skinned Marrok turned, Larentia mimicking his movement as Harry came to stand before them. Harry drew in a sharp breath, before seizing his last chance with both hands. “Please, take me out on the hunt with you?” he asked, avoiding Larentia’s gaze and focusing solely on Marrok’s dark eyes. His only chance was with this man, not the unruly bitch from the other day that seemed to have been chastened by Greyback’s scolding.

 

 Harry saw nervousness, uncertainty in those dark eyes however and inhaled again, drawing inspiration and courage from the air around him. He followed his instincts, which were whispering to him exactly what he had to do to get what he wanted. With a small smile, Harry cocked his head slightly. Feeling like a complete idiot, he moved forwards, radiating a feigned shyness. It worked. He saw Marrok flush a little.

 

 “I’m not sure the alpha would appreciate his mate being taken beyond the gate,” Marrok said uncertainly. “It’s nearing the end of mating season for most species and that makes some creatures testy.”

 

 Harry tilted his head to the other side then, feeling nature aid him by sending a soft breeze over his shoulder, whisking his scent into Marrok’s nostrils. “Grey– Fenrir thinks being more involved with the pack will help me… _adjust_ a little quicker,” he said, still smiling. “I think it’d make him happy to see me adjusting and to know that you helped me.”

 

 At that point he risked a glance at Larentia, who was watching the exchange uncertainly. At last she fixed him with a smile that made Harry want to recoil. He wasn’t sure he could trust her entirely.

 

 “Marrok, the alpha wants his mate to feel like one of us. Let him come and see the forest as we do, what can it hurt?” she murmured with a voice like smooth velvet. Harry shivered but covered it up by broadening his smile.

 

 “I know it will mean a lot to him,” Harry said, feeling edgy. How long would it be before Greyback came looking for him? He was awfully… _protective;_ he had to get as much space between them as possible. “Errr, shall we get going then? Maybe we can be back before lunch?”

 

 At this, Marrok smiled. “Spoken like a true werewolf, thinking of his stomach,” the wolf laughed, turning to open the gate. “Stay close though, the alpha will have my hide if you get hurt on my watch.”

 

 The caves were just as awe-inspiring and mysterious as before, filled with their own mystical beauty, but it was the sunlight that greeted his eyes that stunned him. The breeze brought with it a whisk of hope, breathed adrenaline into his veins. His heart began hammering and he chewed the inside of his mouth to try and remain calm. Larentia and Marrok could not sense anything was off.

 

 “Stay close,” Marrok said as the gateway into the cave sealed itself behind them and they began to walk into the forest. “Like I said, some species get tetchy around this time. They’re either breeding or caring for young ones. Easily pissed off. I may be the omega, Alpha Numero but you’re not yet up to your full strength.” Marrok gave Harry a nervous yet reassuring smile, Larentia, however was considering them both with a peculiar look in her eyes.

 

 “There’s a lot to be done and I work best alone,” she murmured and Harry had the distinct impression that she wanted as little to do with him as possible. He’d thought that when she had entered Greyback’s den the either day, setting his new clothes on the shelves along with Greyback’s without saying a word to him.

 

 Marrok seemed to have the same impression. He glanced at Harry before meeting Larentia’s gaze once more. “The alpha numero and I will take to the river for some fishing,” he said and with a small nod, Larentia vanished into the forest. There was a long, drawn out silence where nothing was heard except the birds singing gleefully in the trees. Then, at last, Marrok turned to face Harry once more, his eyes still not quite meeting Harry's (out of respect).

 

 “The river?” he suggested brightly.

 

 Marrok may have been the omega but he certainly wasn’t without skill or strength. Harry watched in awe as the man perched on all fours on the riverbank and snatched a fat, frantically writhing fish from the water’s depths with his bare hands. Marrok smiled at him shyly, embarrassed by Harry's admiration.

 

 “It’s nothing, really Numero, you will learn too with time.”

 

 Harry managed an uneasy smile as Marrok went back to his task, his intense dark eyes focussed on the shadows moving so subtly in the deep water that only wolf eyes could see. Harry watched him carefully. There was no way he could outrun him and even if he wished to fight him, he could not hope to win. It would have to be _exactly_ the right time…

 

 “Errr, Marrok?” Harry asked after the sun had risen higher in the sky and Marrok had been still and patient in his wait for the next fish for some time.

 

 “Mmm?” the large wolf responded without so much as blinking, still keeping his eyes on the water. Harry envied his patience, his concentration. He could have learned a lot from Marrok and perhaps Amoux and Echo as well if he had stayed…

 

 “I err…I need the loo, do you mind if I just…?” Harry gestured to the thick glade of trees just behind him. He was on the opposite side of the river to Marrok, not only so he could better observe him and his task but also to keep his shadow and fidgeting movements away from the sensitive fishing area. It was all about being still and patient, Marrok had told him and Harry had sheepishly moved to the other side then, admitting he didn’t have either requirement.

 

 “Yeah, not too far in though,” Marrok muttered distractedly, his clawed hand hovering silently over the water now. He still did not look up and Harry took his chance.

 

 “No, not too far,” he agreed, getting to his feet. Without betraying his dishonesty, Harry swiftly but silently vanished into the cover of trees, Ghost hot on his tail and mimicking his soft-footedness. His wolf inheritance was slowly blooming. He could feel it now, allowing him to move in perfect silence and haste through the trees without so much as a backward glance at Marrok. Poor Marrok, he hoped Greyback wouldn’t punish him for letting him escape – that was his last thought before he broke into a soundless run.

 

 The sun peeped in and out of the trees as he bolted forwards, weaving in and out of them with speed and ease. He was going to do it this time he knew it! Just for good measure through, he threw himself into a branch of the river before him and snatched up a handful of flowers growing there on the bank. It was the very same species of flower he had used to cover his scent that full moon night and he rubbed it hastily over himself to hide his smell for when Greyback _did_ come looking. Harry knew he would. The git could sense his moods, but could not track him unless he could follow his scent.

 

 Hopping out of the water, Harry flew into a sprint again, following his senses and the cool spring breeze through the forest. He didn’t know what he was going to do next; this was as far as his plan took him, now he was winging it. _But I will get away,_ he thought resolutely, sure of it this time.

 

 Ghost looked in his element beside him, his tongue hanging out his mouth as he ran, panting with eyes bright and the wind rushing through his fur. Harry beamed at him. “Good boy, come on, I’ll race you!”

 

 The trees were beginning to thin but Harry could tell by the formation of the breeze that they were still a fair way from the forest's edge. He and Ghost slowed, breathing hard but escape was still in Harry's sights. There was no full moon this time to thwart his attempts at escape. Once he was out of the forest he would follow his nose to the nearest village, it was his only chance without a wand.

 

 Suddenly, movement from his right stilled him in his steps. Ghost's muscles tightened, his frame arching into a wary stance, as if readying to either pounce or flee. Harry mimicked his posture unconsciously, only just restraining the urge to reach for his absent wand. He grit his teeth. He hated not having his wand, he felt naked without it. His improving sense of smell, however could not identify the creature nearby. Did that mean it was neither human nor wolf?

 

 “Easy, Ghost,” Harry said, holding an arm out to silence him. The wolf may have enjoyed that trot with him just then but he still wasn't at his full strength. Just then, a shape emerged from the trees just before him. It was a peculiar creature that took a moment to register in his mind. “A griffin,” he murmured with awe and wariness both, studying the beast. It was an infant; there was no doubt of that. It was little bigger than a horse's foal, infancy betrayed by flecks of muddy brown in its glorious golden coat. The feathers at its torso were fluffy and useless, like that of a baby bird and its wings flapped feebly, looking ridiculously big for its body. Harry had seen images and statues of griffins, but never a real one – not this close anyway.

 

 Breathing a sigh of relief, he glanced to Ghost who was still tense and watching the baby griffin uncertainly as it ambled towards them, crooning curiously. It trotted unstably to Harry's side, seeming to be sizing him up. _Probably never seen a human before,_ Harry reasoned, or wolf, whatever he was now. “I don't have any food for you,” he said to the griffin, taking a step back from it slowly. He didn't want to frighten it, griffins were notoriously twitchy and even this little one could do some damage with those already blooming talons.

 The griffin tried to span the gap between them again. Harry frowned when the creature nudged his hand with interest. _I held one of the fish earlier,_ Harry realised, remembering his first failed attempt at catching one – before he had moved himself to the opposite side of the bank to let Marrok get to work. “I don't have any fish for you,” he said, taking a few steps back this time and turning his head a fraction so that he could see Ghost out of the corner of his eye. “Let's go before mum and dad turn up,” he muttered.

 

 Turning, he began to brisk-walk away from the beast, feeling Ghost hugging his side as he followed suit. A sharp yelp of pain halted him in his steps. Whirling around, he saw the Griffin's already razor sharp beak locked tightly around Ghost's tail. “Get off him!” he snarled, surging forwards and swatting the griffin's beak. He did not let go and the wolf's cries intensified into an all out scream as blood began to weep from where that beak was clamped around his tail. “Get off!” Harry roared with wolfish fury, seizing a fallen branch from the ground and bringing it down with violent desperation on the griffin's head.

 

 The beast yipped with shock, releasing Ghost and staggering back. Harry moved in front of Ghost, who was now cowering behind him, his wounded tail tucked between his legs. The griffin shook his head as if to brush off the confusion, his feeble wings flapping as a horrid squawking filled the forest. “Stay back!” Harry snapped, holding the branch out before him in warning. He didn't care if it was a baby, it was still a dangerous creature and he wouldn't allow it to hurt Ghost. As far as he was concerned, this little runt that nobody seemed concerned about before he'd arrived would never be harmed again.

 

 Suddenly, the sound of wings and a resounding _slam_ of something heavy hitting the ground made his blood run cold. He turned on his heel and his heart jerked in fear. Mum and Dad had heard their baby's cries. The father was extensively larger. Golden feathers rippled over the muscles beneath as he flew at Harry with an almighty screech. The talons of his front legs shot out, sliced spitefully through the flesh of Harry’s torso. Harry screamed, stumbling backwards and felt Ghost at his side. A warning snarl rose from his furred companion that was swiftly drowned out by another scream of fury from behind them.

 

 The female was behind him and Harry rolled out of the way just in time, hearing that serrated beak snap shut on thin air where he had been moments before. He was trapped. Ghost roared, the sound nowhere near as ferocious as the griffins' screams but tearing through the air with equal force as he leapt straight for the throat of the father as he bore down on Harry again. “No!” Harry cried as the wolf was batted aside. He threw his legs up, kicking the male griffin hard in its gizzard. It choked, spluttered and withdrew, giving Harry chance to scramble to his feet, putting himself between the raging female and the place where Ghost was staggering to his feet.

 

 Harry glanced around in panic, where was that stick he'd had a moment ago? Where was his bloody wand when he needed it?! Why hadn't Dumbledore ever taught him to harness wandless magic like him? _Now would be a good time to come into those werewolf powers_ , he thought bitterly, watching the female approach, her wings raised threateningly, her talons swiping through the air at him.

 

 Harry shot back to avoid the grasping claws, stumbling over himself in his haste. His hand was sliced open on a jagged rock on the ground. Without pause, he seized it. Ghost was behind him, snapping and snarling, trying to reverse their positions and put himself between Harry and the griffins.

 

 They were all three surrounding him now and Harry had the briefest moment to decide which to fend off with the sharp rock before they pounced.

 

 A howl filled with raw aggression tore through the air as the shadows of the attacking beasts fell over Harry. The next thing he knew, the female had been torn off him and sent rolling to the side, straight into the male. Before he could gather his wits he saw a flash of silver swipe at the infant where it had closed in on him and it too stumbled back. Harry was frozen in place in the dirt. His sliced chest was protesting with every rapid breath he took and his palm was stinging as he watched the familiar silver wolf standing before him, every muscle taut and prepared for battle.

 

 The sunlight danced across his fur where he stood for the longest moment before the feathered beasts launched themselves at him again – all at once. Ghost was low on his belly, submitting to the alpha without even a glance required. Harry felt the urge to mimic the motion, to prostrate himself on the ground until his alpha was ready to deal with him, but fear, adrenaline and his pounding heart held him in place.

 

 Everything was fast movement, snarling, screaming, claws and fangs with blood painting the air. Harry watched as the female was thrown through the air, Greyback’s fangs snapping at her and the male’s talons slicing into Greyback’s side. He was strong but so were they and _they_ didn’t have him, Harry as a distraction. With Greyback’s snarl of pain tearing through the air, the female circled, shooting towards Harry. Fenrir snapped at her, backing her away from Harry and Ghost. The male dived, taking advantage of Greyback’s distraction and slamming hard into his bleeding side.

 

 Blood stained that glossy silver coat as Greyback roared, biting hard into the female’s wing until she screeched, writhing and fighting against his hold, which released as the male advanced on Harry again. Harry was a clear weakness and the beasts were using that to their advantage. Harry seized the branch he’d dropped earlier and brought it down hard on the male’s beak. Ghost lunged for that throat, his fangs drawing thick rivulets of blood.

 

 Greyback swiped at the male, his massive paw sending the creature sprawling away from Harry but as he did, the female struck back in vengeance. Harry watched in horrified slow motion. The female’s screeching rang like a warning siren in his ears as he watched her talons slice sharply through Greyback’s neck. “No!” Harry screamed, bolting forwards. The female reared as Greyback howled in agony, her bloody claws cutting through his shirt and biting into his forearm beneath.

 

 Hissing with pain, Harry glanced frantically around, his eyes finding the infant that had started this mess. It was rearing back from Ghost, who was snarling snapping at his feet. Harry launched the branch at it, startling the beast and sending it bolting into the trees with a cry. Ghost barely jumped out of the way in time to avoid being trampled by the parents as they shot after it. Keeping his eyes focussed cautiously on the trees where their foes had vanished, he ambled over to where Harry had dropped to his knees Greyback’s side.

 

 Greyback was a wolf still, lying on his side and giving great choking breaths that made blood weep from his side and throat. Harry stared from one wound to another, before pressing his hand over the wound on the wolf’s throat, trying to slow the bleeding. As he did so, the glossy silver fur vanished, leaving a sweating, spluttering Greyback lying naked in its place.

 

 Harry kept the pressure on his throat, staring down at him, ignoring the biting pain in his own chest and arm. Ghost was standing beside him, watching them both carefully. Harry grimaced. “Tell me what to do,” he demanded breathlessly, “tell me how to help you!”

 

 “Stop…running… _away_!” Greyback snarled, choking on his own words. Blood oozed sickeningly from under Harry's fingers. He pressed harder.

 

 “I can’t. That’s why you have to let me go–”

 

 “C-Can’t!” Greyback snarled, his eyes full of fire even as Harry felt the power, the sheer strength in his body flowing freely out of the wound under his hand. “S-swore on your…your bloody life that I wouldn’t let you go!” Every word was a painful gasp and yet Harry could not help but feel surprise at that revelation. This combined with the impenetrable shield their connection provided told him _exactly_ why Voldemort didn’t fear his escape. Voldemort would know the moment Harry was out of range of Greyback, because he would be able to sense him again, to gain access to his mind without Greyback's interference. Greyback would not be able to let him go even if he wanted to. That thought both horrified and confused him, but now was not the time for it.

 

 With a wince, Harry pulled his shirt off over his head and pressed the rolled up fabric to Greyback’s throat. “Hold it there,” he instructed the alpha, removing his hand only when Greyback replaced it with his own, keeping the pressure there. He could see those blue eyes glazing over. He was losing too much blood, even for a werewolf – a throat wound was lethal to any species.

 

 The forest around them was quiet, deathly quiet in the wake of their battle and in that silence Harry heard that treacherous, whispering voice inside him rise up. Greyback was seriously wounded; he could barely hold the cloth to his bleeding neck. If there was any opportunity where he was certain to get away successfully, it was now.

 

 The path to freedom was clear and yet he could not take it. _I can’t leave him here,_ he thought, gritting his teeth so hard that he felt his jaw ache. “Ghost,” Harry said stiffly, shoving the temptation to flee back down his throat where a lump had formed. “Ghost, call Marrok, he must be nearby still. Call him,” he ordered. The wolf tipped his head to the side with puppyish thoughtfulness, before throwing his head back with a desperate mournful howl. There was no way Marrok could ignore that sound.

 

 “Tell me what to do,” Harry gasped as Ghost howled, his hands hovering uselessly over Greyback’s body. When the alpha said nothing, panic seized him. “For fuck sake Fenrir!” he snarled, finally forcing those glazed eyes to open and focus on him. He watched the fingers clenched around the cloth tighten, before the other hand rose shakily, coming to land clumsily on Harry's shoulder.

 

 “Worried about me, eh?” Greyback murmured, blood leaking from his lips. Harry's eyes widened.

 

 “I never wanted you to get hurt you bastard!” He declared. “Tell me how to save you!” The hand on his shoulder slid down gesturing near his mouth, beckoning Harry closer. Harry leant down, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew how much blood a human man could lose before he died, but what about werewolves?

 

 “Y-Your mouth…!” Greyback gasped, his words dusting Harry's cheeks and instantly, Harry knew what he meant.

 

 “But I – I’m a–”

 

 “A werewolf, and…if nothing else…will convince you maybe… _this_ will…!” Greyback coughed, choked on his own words and blood wept from his lips as he pulled the crimson-stained cloth from his torn throat. “Only the…alpha’s mate can…tend his wounds…”

 

 Harry swallowed hard, a twinge of revulsion twisting his gut. But Greyback’s skin was going paler than he’d ever seen it and blood was staining the grass beneath them, forming a foreboding crimson pool. He had done more repulsive things and moreover, he couldn’t allow anyone to die because of him.

 

 _I can’t allow my mate to die,_ something whispered deep in the recesses of his mind, submerged by panic and fear. Swallowing again, he shifted his weight more evenly on his folded legs and supported himself with one arm on Greyback’s shoulder. With a final glance up into those fading azure eyes he dipped his head towards his neck. Pinching the flesh together across the first deep laceration with his other hand he swiped his tongue across the crevice. His stomach roiled, but he did not dare allow himself to pause and think on it.

 

 Again, he lapped at that flesh that tasted of sweat and blood with only a slight tang of the man he had tasted in passion that morning. He winced and again he licked the wound until he felt the skin smooth under his tongue. Glancing down with shock, he saw that the first of the four deep gouges had healed under his tongue, it still looked red raw and angry, but it was healed.

 

  _Hurry!_ He snapped, urging himself not to dwell on the spectacular madness of what had just happened. Somewhere at the back of his mind he realised that Ghost had stopped howling, yet he continued to seal the next wound shut, then the next, by the time he came to the last, however his mouth felt dry. He swallowed, cringing at the coppery taste of blood on his tongue and tried to bring moisture back into his mouth. _Just a bit more,_ he told himself, bringing his tongue along the final, nastiest gash. He drew back when he felt it close only to see Greyback watching him with an emotion he couldn’t quite comprehend.

 

 Awkward and still filled with dread and uncertainty, Harry glanced to the deep wound across Greyback’s belly, but the wolf struggled into a half sitting position.

 

 “You’ve done enough for now, pet, far more than I thought a new wolf would be capable of.” A wince crossed his haggard features and his hand flew to his belly but as Harry moved to press his discarded shirt to the wound there, his own wounds made themselves known.

 

 “We need to get back to the den,” Greyback growled, his usual husky gruffness almost completely hiding the pain in his voice, but not the concern. “I need to patch you up–”

 

 “Me?” Harry demanded in disbelief. “What about you?” Any answer Greyback had to give however was lost as Marrok and Larentia bolted into sight. They stopped short at the sight of them, the carnage and the smell of blood so thick on the air.

 

 “Alpha?” Larentia gasped as Marrok stood there dumbly, not believing his eyes.

 

 “Shit,” Marrok whispered with horror. They both staggered forward.

 

 Harry inhaled, feeling a frisson of discomfort shoot through him at their proximity to his wounded mate, but he gritted his teeth against the sensation. There was no way he could carry Greyback to the den himself. Feeling the alpha in him swell with his mate injured, Harry forced his limbs to steady themselves and got to his feet. “He's wounded. I can't carry him on my own, help me,” he ordered them, leaving no room for argument and with a voice he was sure wasn't his own. It was far too commanding, too forceful. Too wolfish.

 

 Without preamble, the two obeyed (although Larentia with an uncertain, reproachful glance his way) and they both seized Greyback under one arm, hauling him to his feet, drawing a sharp groan of pain from him.

 

 “Careful!” Harry barked, smelling and seeing blood ooze worryingly from the wound at Greyback’s abdomen. He was alarmed at the concern he felt forming an impassable lump in his throat, but brushed it aside. This was his fault, he couldn't allow Greyback to die because of him, no matter what he was, he just couldn't. The idea was simply unthinkable.

 

 There was chaos when they eventually got back to the valley. It erupted the second everyone clapped eyes on their almighty alpha, suspended bloody and weak from his pack-mates' shoulders with Harry leading them. Harry kept his chin up and his eyes hard, unwilling to allow anyone to take advantage of the werewolf's weakness. It was simply abhorrent to him, almost as unnerving as the thought of any of them getting closer than they had to. His instincts again, he supposed, but pushed that to the back of his mind for now. Right now he had to fix this mess he’d made of the lives of these people.

 

 “Perhaps we should cover him up?” Harry murmured, determinedly not looking at the naked, barely conscious alpha that Larentia and Marrok were supporting. He reached up instinctively for the clasp holding the fur cloak around his shoulders. Larentia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, snorting derisively as if he were the world's greatest fool.

 

 “We werewolves don't hold the same taboo about nudity as you little humans,” she chuckled without humour. The tone made Harry feel small and useless, insignificant in a way that he had _sworn_ he would never allow himself to be again. He grit his teeth, drawing himself up as high as his body allowed.

 

 “I'm a werewolf too now, or have you forgotten? I’m your alpha just as much as Greyback is,” he said, glaring pointedly at her, but with a tone that all those gathering around them could not fail to hear. Larentia looked taken aback, even a little insulted but the way she glanced at Echo, who had appeared at Harry's side told him she dared not be the next fool to disregard all sense of decorum and tradition. The moment she opened her mouth to speak, Harry cut her off, not allowing her the courtesy of trying to cover up her mistake.

 

 “Take him to our den and lay him on the bed then leave him, he is mine – my responsibility,” he added the last part hastily, not liking the way his instincts had chosen to word that particular phrase. His cheeks flushed slightly but he did not allow his demeanour to fall. He couldn't allow it now, not when he had already done so much damage here.

 

 There was a moment where no one moved or even seemed to breathe. Then at last, the first slight movement of compliance from Marrok sparked Larentia into action despite her shock and they both began hauling Greyback's semi-conscious form towards the den. With an inward sigh of relief Harry turned to Amoux, who he thought might be the most eager to help. He had to play his part carefully here, without Greyback at his best this could end badly for all with people like Ulric watching on calculatingly.

 

 “Amoux, can you bring me a bowl of warm water and some cleaning cloths?” he asked. She nodded and darted off immediately, leaving him feeling quite alone and overwhelmed in the large crowd that had gathered around him. He stared around at the unfamiliar faces nervously, not knowing what any of them were capable of or even thinking. Were they supporters of what his presence here meant, like Amoux and Echo? Or did they side with usurpers like Ulric? How could he consider this a home? It was no safer nor comfortable than the Dursleys when all was said and done. How many of them would defend him if some were to attack? _At least as Voldemort's captive I knew where I stood,_ he thought nervously, wondering how on earth he was going to survive this.

 

*                      *                      *

 

 A sharp sting of pain in his jugular was what awoke Greyback first, then another stabbing agony in his gut like the twist of a knife. Then throbbing, aching pain bloomed throughout his every limb, making him feel heavy and battered, bruised as he had never felt before. He grunted, forcing his eyes to open. The bleary world was instantly recognisable, but only because of all the years he had lived here. He was in his own bed and the soft light dictated it was evening or very early morning. He tried to force his body to rise but could not, not only because of the pain but also the comparatively small hands that pressed firmly on his chest.

 “Stay still,” a surprisingly concerned voice demanded. The hands drifted away, only to return armed with a damp warm cloth which they used to dab away the grime and blood from his throat. He winced. His little pet was a werewolf alright but the healing abilities in his saliva were far from matured. Though the bleeding had stopped, he still felt every ounce of pain as he would have from an open wound, it was a disconcerting sensation.

 

 With his gaze focussing clearly, he looked down to see his mate kneeling at his side, his brow furrowed as he focussed on cleaning his body, caring for his wounds the way his instincts would be demanding of him right now. Fenrir smirked slightly. He knew the concern, the dire need the boy would be feeling to hide him away, to protect him and care for him solely on his own, but he did not say a word.

 

 Keeping quiet for some time, he watched those slender limbs work, watched that face twitch with concern, alarm and determination all at once with every pass of that damp cloth. It was soothing to feel him there, to watch him, comforting in a way that nothing had been since he was a cub. His thoughts began to drift back to the life he had lead before his family and pack had been desecrated and quickly, he sought words to distract him.

 

 “What time is it?” he asked, irritated at how rough with disuse his voice sounded. He cleared his throat irritably and those green eyes lifted to meet his, shining with the light from the fire at the centre of the den.

 

 “It's night time, I'm not sure of the exact time but everyone went to bed  a while ago.” Harry frowned and returned the cloth to the bowl to gather more water on it and began to dab at his chest this time. “I've already cleaned your wounds once today. Your stomach wound took ages to close compared to your throat.” Ah, so the boy had healed him with his mouth there too, that explained the confusing stabbing pain there as well. The boy had not let anyone else come near him either, he could smell that much in the room. He liked that fact far more than he should.

 

 “Perhaps this will teach you what happens when you run away,” Fenrir growled. Those eyes flew to him in shock at his words.

 

 “If you'd told me Vol– _He_ would have invaded my mind the second I got out of your range, that you physically _couldn't_ let me go I might not have tried so bloody hard!” Harry declared vehemently.

 

 “I did tell you,” Fenrir growled, hauling himself up and snarling at the pain that burst through his body at the action. That froze Harry in his rant and allowed Fenrir the chance to speak. “I told you he'd be on you if I didn't catch you first. But I will _always_ catch you,” he swore. “You're mine and perhaps this little stunt will teach you that if nothing else!”

 

 Harry stared at him.

 

 “Oh, yes,” Fenrir murmured, seeing the truth dawning in those eyes. “You feel the need to care for me, protect me and my honour, to provide for me all on your own. That’s what I feel for you. We're mates, whether you seal it by biting me or not. Although completing it would stop this confusion you’re feeling.” He considered the boy's expression for a moment before continuing. “You belong with me, no matter what else is going on in the world and you can't get away from me. I'm _part_ of you and I have been since you consented to me under the moon!”

 

 Impatient with Harry's silent astonishment, Fenrir reached forwards and tried to pull Harry to him, but his wounds slowed him just enough to give Harry time to pull back out of his reach. “No,” the boy said firmly, “you’re wounded and it’s my fault. You need to rest and I’ll bloody well make _sure_ you rest if I’m stuck here – for a while at least.”

 

 He sounded as if he had conceded ‘ _for now at least’_ and Fenrir could not help but feel a thrill of delight at that despite his injuries. He reached for him again, but still the boy resisted him, pushing at his shoulders as hard as he dared to keep him at arms length. Those green eyes were bright and defiant.

 

 “No,” he said, “you’re hurt–”

 

 “So make it up to me, pet,” Fenrir growled, moving through the pain with nothing but hunger on his mind. He was in pain but he had felt pain before. Right now, he wanted nothing more than for this boy to welcome Fenrir to his body as willingly as he had this morning. Oh, the morning just gone seemed a decade away now.

 

 “Let me fuck you,” he urged his mate, tugging him closer, this time succeeding. The boy was kneeling up over one of Fenrir’s spread legs, Fenrir’s hand on his neck holding him in place. “Let me,” Fenrir breathed, his words dusting his mate’s torso that was naked save for bandages that had been wrapped haphazardly around him – as if he had done it himself. Fenrir growled softly at the faint smell of blood there.

 

 “Lie back,” he murmured and when the boy protested he added, “just let me heal you.” With those green eyes fixed on him, he lowered that slender body back into the furs. Masking his own pain with practiced ease, he peeled away the bandages from that tender flesh. The boy winced and Fenrir dipped his head so that his lips touched the sharp gash across Harry's cheek.

 

 “Let someone else take care of you for once in your life,” Fenrir whispered. Mouthing the slender wound with his tongue and lips until he felt it close, he stripped the body below his of poorly wrapped bandages at the same time. When he drew back, Harry's cheek was healed and his body naked aside from the trousers clinging to his hips.

 

 With a quick glance up at that face he was coming to know far too well, Fenrir dipped his head, ignoring the throbbing pain in his throat and soothing the vicious looking gashes across that lean muscled abdomen with his tongue. He felt as well as heard the boy’s breath hitch. “Be still,” he muttered against that flesh, each slow pass of his tongue and lips an attempt to seduce as well as heal. For some reason he knew that sinking himself into his mate’s body was a far better cure than any bed-rest or medicine.

 

 Harry's body twitched under his touch, arching subtly up a little now and again when the boy’s control waned. “Look at the perfect handful you’ve got for me, pet,” Fenrir growled against Harry's skin and he slid up the boy’s body. His hand cupped the obvious hardness in Harry's trousers as he came level with him. Staring down into that face so torn with emotion, he squeezed gently.

 

 A sharp gasp of pleasure left Harry’s lips. Fenrir groaned at the sensual way that breath danced across his own lips and at the delectable taste of the boy’s pleasure on his tongue. The sound shocked those green eyes to open and widen at their proximity.

 

 “No,” the boy contested, the declaration only half-hearted. “You’re wounded.”

 

 Fenrir growled softly. “You did well today, pet,” he practically purred, not releasing the boy’s gaze for a moment. And the boy _had_ done amazing, had healed Fenrir quite well considering wounds that severe could not be completely healed by anyone other than an alpha as powerful as himself.

 

 “ _Well_?” Harry repeated. “It was my fault! I nearly got Ghost and you killed!” His voice was low and wretched despite the pleasure in his eyes. Fenrir squeezed the bulge in his trousers to silence him.

 

 “So make it better,” Fenrir murmured huskily, far more aroused than he was angry at the moment. He didn’t know what or how, but something had changed in the forest when Harry had thought he was about to die and he needed to explore that – needed to desperately. Fenrir almost crooned, leaning in so that their lips were practically touching, feeling the boy’s sharp inhalation against his mouth. The boy’s lips were firm and hard, set with anticipation and half-hearted negation but still so much softer than his own.

 

 Seizing the boy’s chin between his large forefinger and thumb, he held the boy still and looked determinedly into his eyes, giving him nowhere to hide. Pain was still there throbbing in his veins. The ‘healed’ wounds ached fiercely and his limbs were nowhere near as strong as they usually were, but he needed this, needed closeness to his mate who _still_ had not finalised their union. His logical mind knew why the boy had still not sealed them, but his instincts were frustrated, distressed and confused. They would not allow him to rest while he still had yet to woo his mate entirely.

_The best rewards are usually those that are hard won,_ Echo had said only yesterday. Was it still yesterday now? He had answered Fenrir’s question of _‘what do you suggest?’_ also, butbefore offering any helpful suggestions, he’d asked a question of his own. _What wouldn’t you do?_

 

  Fenrir swallowed and then whispered with a heady, gruff tone, “Show me what a human kiss is, pet.”

 

 Those lips parted slightly with a shocked gasp beneath him and that was all the reaction Fenrir needed. He dived down, smashing his lips hard against the Harry’s, feeling that body arch up in need, surprise and relief all at once. His fickle little cub still had human needs beyond cooked food and warm clothes, it seemed. Fenrir could feel him coming alive beneath him, could see his cheeks flush and eyes close tight with desire. The boy’s heart was thudding loudly in his chest. This was a human need Fenrir didn't mind satisfying in the least. It wasn't at all as vile and degrading as he had first thought – in fact…

 

 Seizing the boy's face between both hands, he stroked those smooth, inflamed cheeks with his coarse thumbs. He felt embarrassment and bliss in that heat as he tilted his head a little to get a better angle, laying bruising, demanding kisses on those lips, hungry for more of this delightful reaction. He could practically taste it on the air, the boy was dripping and he had long forgotten his cock that lay trapped between them. It had not flagged an inch. It was hard and wanting, hungry just like him.

 

 Fenrir growled softly against that mouth when those uncertain hands flew up to tighten in his hair. Oh, his boy liked this very much. In answer to Echo's question, what wouldn't he do to experience this bliss for eternity? There was nothing he could think of that he wouldn't do. This was how his mate was supposed to be, was supposed to make him feel.

 

 Then, suddenly he felt a moist, uncertain probing at his lips, felt the boy tilt his head a little and Fenrir halted, drawing back a fraction in surprise. Masking his surprise with a cocked brow, he studied the flushed face beneath him and felt his prick harden against his mate's belly. The way Harry's breath hitched told him that he had felt that pulse of arousal too. It seemed to startle some of that reputed courage from him, for he found his voice.

 

 “Open your mouth more,” Harry whispered sheepishly, his words almost lost to even Fenrir's ears. The alpha stiffened, irritated that the boy seemed to know more about this 'kissing' than him, that he knew more about any intimacy than him. Just how many mouths had his mate's lips touched? How many unworthy witches had tasted his pet's tongue? He growled furiously at the thought.

 

 Seizing the back of the boy's neck, he ignored his cry of uncomfortable surprise and yanked him up hard to his body again, crashing their lips together in determination to burn any memory of another touch from his mate's body. This time he kept his lips open and took advantage of Harry's gasp by darting his tongue forward the way he did when tasting the boy's arse. Teasingly he flicked the tip of his tongue over those lips, taunting the corner of that mouth as it parted in an 'o' of pleasure.

 

 Harry groaned beneath him, his fingers digging into his shoulders in a battle for freedom and for more all at once. He felt those hips rutting against his belly, rolling into him with slow yet urgent gyrations. His tongue learned the shape of his front teeth, flicking tormentingly at the roof of his mouth before finally meeting the other's slick muscle. Oh, it was good, even to him. He rocked back into his mate's thrusts, his grip on the boy's nape tightening and his other hand gripping the boy's arse, helping him to grind into him harder, faster.

 

 “Delicious,” he snarled roughly through open mouthed kisses, saliva keeping their mouths joined even as they parted with his words. He groaned and felt the echoes of the boy's own cries in his mouth. There was nothing more erotic. How had humans, as stupid as they were, managed to get something so right? “I want your arse at the same time,” he grunted, giving the boy's arse a final squeeze before sliding his hand into his trousers, tugging them down impatiently.

 

 Harry struggled, his hands between their chests now and pushing against him to try and break free. His pesky conscience had awoken again it seemed. Fenrir seized that mouth again, this time punctuating the feral, ferocious kiss with a nip to that swollen lower lip. The boy cried out and Fenrir chuckled against his mouth, still struggling to pry his trousers off with their awkward angle.

 

 “Surely you realise now that no one can ever make you feel like this. No muggle or witch or wizard can compare.” He spanned the diminutive gap between them again with a slower, experimentally soft kiss that made a strange, unmistakeably wolfish whine leave his mate's throat.

 

 “Oh, you like tenderness as well do you, pet?” he smirked derisively, “It's not my nature boy, but I’ll give it to you. I'll give you whatever your dainty little body needs, that's what it means to be my mate. There's no way you can keep denying that you belong with me–”

 

 “No,” Harry began. Turning his head away to avoid the next kiss Fenrir had been about to lay on his mouth, he shoved his hardest against that chest. “I don't want–”

 

 “Yes, you do,” Fenrir snarled, seizing that chin and turning it back to him, sealing those lips with another punishing kiss that made his mate cry out and arch despite himself. His hand dove into those loose trousers again, tugging roughly so that Harry was forced up against him. The sharp sudden motion irritated his, Fenrir’s wounds and drew a sharp hiss from his lips.

 

 The reaction was instant. Harry tore his lips away and took the opportunity to leap back out of Fenrir’s grasp, completely off the bed. Pulling his trousers back up awkwardly, the boy stared at Fenrir with concern that made a growl of irritation leave him. Harry took an extra few cautious steps backward, staring at him with far too bright eyes and kiss-bruised lips. He looked good like that and the sight only infuriated the alpha more.

 

 “You’re hurt,” the boy said firmly.

 

 “I’ve had worse,” Fenrir snarled, “now get back on this bed before I drag you back.”

 

 

 

 Harry's chin raised, his jaw set and he took another step backward. “You’re wounded because of me,” he said, his voice still plagued with flustered arousal. “And since Vol– _He_ will snatch me up again the second I’m out of your range, it looks like I’m stuck here for a while.” _Until Hermione, Ron and the others get me out of here,_ he thought distractedly. “You saved me,” he said, his voice steady now. “I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt, least of all yours, so while I’m stuck here I may as well return that debt and get you well again.”

 

 Fenrir raised a brow. “You talk like this is a temporary thing, pet, but it’s a lifetime situation.”

 

 “I don’t accept that,” Harry said with a cool voice that was betrayed by his flushed cheeks and the unavoidable bulge in his trousers. “The celebratory feast you arranged for…” he paused, wincing slightly as he forced out the word, “ _us_? It’s been postponed for now, just thought you should know.” With that he turned, heading towards the bathing chamber. “I’ll just have a quick bath,” he called over his shoulder indifferently, his steps hastening to put more distance between them.

 

 That…that _kiss_ had rattled him. He needed to put space between them before his instincts, his hormones, his human needs and their incomplete bond all conspired to drive him completely mad. He would get out of here, _he_ _would_. He just had to do some damage control while he was still trapped here.

 

 Leaning down, Harry tugged down his trousers, pausing at the fact that there was no pain in his movements. That was down to Fenrir. _Greyback_ , he corrected himself, gritting his teeth. For fuck’s sake! Why was this place, this relationship feeling less and less like a trap with every passing moment? _Ron, Hermione, whatever you’re up to, hurry up and find me, before I lose it completely._

That kiss had been good, better than anything he had ever felt before.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	9. Heart’s Spectrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind words I've received. I'm so nervous about getting this right so I'm glad so many of you are enjoying it :) Even the smallest of words mean a lot to me. Please continue to enjoy!

.: Chapter Nine :.

Heart’s Spectrum

 

 

 

 It occurred to Harry that perhaps he was more extraordinary among the pack than he had first thought. He had known that carrying the lycanthrope recessive gene made him special to them, a gifted creature akin to royalty and that they all felt the need to protect him. But besides that, as the alpha's mate and their joint leader he was clearly expected to do… _nothing_.

 

 Frowning at his thoughts, he dragged the cloth in his hands roughly up and down the metal washer, grinding the dirt and sweat from it before dunking it back into the pool he was kneeling beside. The need to avoid Fenrir ( _Greyback,_ his mind corrected) and boredom had swiftly driven him from the den every morning only a few hours after the alpha had awoken. This had become the routine over the last few weeks; he would tend the wolf’s wounds and then skitter away as quickly as possible – usually into the welcoming sunlight.

 

 It was glorious being outside in the sun all day, even now in spring, with the weather not quite in motion towards summer yet the light and warmth were enough to make his skin sing softly with each passing moment. He was more aware of the weather now. He could practically _hear_ the leaves on the trees whispering conspiratorially about summer. Even the cool water splashing over his hands felt glorious as he washed the clothes he had offered to help Amoux with, the droplets dancing joyfully over the back of his fingers.

 

 “You really don't have to do that,” Amoux said softly when Harry turned and caught her staring at him as she worked through her own pile. He had seen her with the load that was shared between the subs a few weeks ago and demanded he be given an equal load to everyone else when she had let him help. It had been nearly two weeks now and still they balked at the sight of him doing 'chores'. Was the alpha numero supposed to sit on their arse and survey? Even Fenrir – _Greyback_ was rarely unoccupied, often hunting or dealing with diplomacy among the pack and anyone (or anything) that got too close to their territory. Werewolves were far too territorial Harry had come to realise.

 

 “It's fine, I'm almost done,” Harry declared, giving her a warm smile as he wrung out the garment in his hands, examining it carefully before deeming it clean and laying it out on one of the thick slabs of sheer, clean slate encircling the wash pool ready to dry. It was honest work that required no thinking. He wanted to do something. Anything. Any work was honest work. He was not a fat cat to be fed and left to lounge all day. The thought made his skin prickle in irritation.

 

 “Shall I help you with yours?” he asked. He was used to chores thanks to his time at the Dursleys, but unlike back then, these were tasks he was happy to do for those much more grateful than the occupants of Privet Drive. He might even dare to say they liked him.

 

 “No, of course not,” Amoux said, almost aghast, “honestly, you do too much. It is not expected of you to partake in menial tasks.”

 

 Harry frowned. “With all due respect I think sitting on my backside all day would be more menial and far less useful than mucking in with everyone else.” He looked around at the eight subs (including Amoux) that were gathered by the pool. Some had their children playing close by their side. Vilkas (Amoux's youngster) was playing with two grass dolls between himself and Amoux, making the couple dance happily and giving them childish voices as he played. Ghost was stretched out on the grass next to Harry, watching the proceedings lazily. He had taken his job in protecting Harry very seriously since the incident with the griffins. Thankfully his tail had healed without so much as a scratch.

 

 “The alpha will be back from the hunt soon, you should make yourself available to him,” she said simply. Despite the casualness of her tone, Harry still flushed. He knew this was natural to them, but he still couldn’t picture this as a life he could every call normal or natural. Although a voice somewhere deep inside him was whispering louder and louder with each day, that this could easily be a life he could be happy with.

 

 “Your bond is still incomplete, it makes the separation agitate you more easily,” Amoux smiled knowingly at him. “Just looking at you anyone can tell you’re unsettled.”

 

 Harry blinked. “To you all it probably seems mental that I won’t complete the bond,” he said.

 

 “It’s a different world here, far and away from the pain and destruction we knew in the wizarding world, but where _you_ came from within it, you knew good things as well,” Amoux explained. “We didn’t know anything but suffering, that’s why it is easier for us to be just what we are and forget the troubles of everyone else outside of the pack.” She gestured to the crown of the mountain that encircled them, the sun bathing her beautiful but worn features. She looked like someone who had endured more than even him in her lifetime.

 

 “But we can give you back whatever you miss and more, Harry,” she said softly, “just give us a chance – give _him_ , a chance. You will be surprised how well you fit in here.”

 

 Harry swallowed. “Even if Vol– I mean _Tergarletum_ or whatever you call him weren’t around, I have friends in the wizarding world–”

 

 “You can have a family with us, be cared for, have _children,_ ” she glanced to Vilkas dotingly and the boy glanced up, noticing their gaze on him. He gave Harry a dazzling smile before ambling over to him, offering him one of the grass dolls before planting himself in his lap. Harry froze at the suddenness of it but the boy didn’t seem to notice his awkwardness.

 

 He remembered his first encounter with the boy and how when lost to his instincts, he’d had the urge to wrap the child in his arms. He’d felt comforted by his presence. He still felt comforted by him, a sensation that was heightened by the oncoming full moon. His second with Greyback. He swallowed at the thought. It was barely a week to go and he was going to be shut in here with a pack of wolves. Perhaps he would be able to lock the den with magic or something to keep them out.

 

 “Vilkas is very taken with you,” Amoux said with her usual smile, changing the subject when she realised how silent he had gone. Harry looked down. The tot in his lap was making the doll in his own small hand talk nonsense to the doll he had forced into Harry's grasp. “All the children are quite in awe of you, it’s because of what you are.”

 

 Harry didn’t know what to say to that really, but he was spared having to find words when both Amoux and one of the other subs across from Harry (a male called Accalia) both got to their feet. “Perhaps you’d like to help us with bath time?” Accalia said. He was tall and slender – far taller than Harry, rugged with cropped, tousled dark blond hair and rich brown eyes that regarded Harry with the same kind of understanding and affection that Amoux’s did.

 

 Accalia was the main reason that Harry had not completely flipped out at being ‘left’ behind whenever Greyback went out to hunt. It helped of course that he, Harry liked helping the others out in their load and that they genuinely seemed to like him (despite how awkward their conversation often was). That, and being ‘left’ also gave him ample excuse to escape Greyback’s overwhelming presence. He had to take whatever chance he could get to reduce the amount of time they spent together.

 

 Aside from all that Accalia was so utterly… _masculine_. There was not a shred of femininity about him, which helped Harry to accept that just because they were subs, didn’t mean they were analogous to women in any way. He was a comforting sight.

 

 “The twins are a struggle when it comes to getting them to meet water,” Accalia smirked, seizing one of the children under his arm while the other identical girl squealed and ran for cover behind the woman beside her. Harry smirked and stood slowly, unable to extricate himself from Vilkas, who clung to his torso until he surrendered and brought an arm around the boy’s backside to support him.

 

 “They might behave themselves if their new friend comes to help,” Amoux laughed, seizing his poorly hidden tot round the middle and hauling her up into the air. “We’ll use my den, come.”

 

 Harry found himself wondering if he’d ever had ‘bath time’ like this. The three of them had the three infants in the hot spring bath (like the one in Greyback’s den) and were washing them brusquely while the twin five-year-old girls and little Vilkas splashed each other gleefully. The squeaks of delight made Harry smile despite any lingering awkwardness. He struggled to keep hold of one of the twins as he washed her head of dark hair.

 

 “You’re a natural,” Accalia laughed just as the other twin swatted at him, trying to escape his grasp.

 

 “Want to play!” the girl squealed, bored of this part of bath time and eager to be playing with the other two. Vilkas was the best behaved, happy to sit close to Amoux and relish the attention quietly. What had he himself been like when he was a child, Harry wondered? Was he rebellious and rueful like the twins or more quiet and content like Vilkas? And if he had a child, what would they be like?

 

 The thoughtfulness must have shown on his face because Accalia’s voice interrupted his reverie. “You’re not worried about the festivities are you? It’s only natural for us to celebrate yours and the alpha’s joining, there won’t be a ritual slaughter or public display of carnal passion,” he mused. “You should enjoy it.”

 Ah. Yes, he’d forgotten about the rearranged festivities. He’d hoped that they all would have forgotten too but it seemed not. They really were fixated on their traditions here.

 

 Harry bit the inside of his mouth uncertainly, beginning to rinse the suds off twin number two’s head. It was still bizarre, having the life of a small wriggling child in his hands. It made him uneasy, despite his purring instincts. “Even though I won’t complete the bond?” he said without really meaning to speak aloud.

 

 Either Accalia didn’t hear him, or decided he couldn’t find an answer, for he said, “I was considering our conversation from the other day, regarding your desire to harness your werewolf magic faster?”

 

 Harry blinked in surprise. He’d believed that subject had been closed or was taboo in someway, that they feared him gaining too much power and using it to escape. He licked his dry lips, pausing in his task for a moment. “You’ll help me?” he asked. Apparently Accalia had been the youngest and quickest to come into his magic after he had been turned, that was why Harry had gone to him in the first place.

 

 Accalia seemed both amused and pleased with his eagerness, not in the least bit worried. “I give lessons of a sort to the youngsters to help them find their magic deep within themselves. I would be happy for you to sit in on our sessions.”

 

 Harry beamed. He couldn’t believe it. A pull similar to that of homesickness swelled in his stomach – only he was longing for his magic rather than home. Magic, he would have his magic back! “When can we start?” he asked eagerly, loading a wash cloth up with warm water to dab the suds away from the twin’s skin.

 Then, as he waited for the man to answer a thought occurred to him and he glanced to Accalia warily. “Err, maybe it’d be best if you didn’t tell Greyback about it,” he said carefully.

 

 Amoux smiled softly. “Afraid he’ll disapprove and try to stop it?” she asked. “I don’t think he will be displeased. It’s part of being a wolf, of course he will be happy that you’re eager to learn more.”

 

 Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. “Not if he thinks I’ll use my magic to escape he won’t,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

 

 “And would you?” Accalia asked, his tone still light but hard to read.

 

 Unable to lie to these people who seemed to genuinely care about him, he gave a small sigh. “Would it stop you from teaching me?”

 

 “No,” Accalia replied simply. His face was as gentle as ever, but that was all he had to say on the matter for now apparently. At least it seemed there was a way forward in all this apart from sitting tight and waiting for Ron and Hermione to rescue him. He might be able to redeem and repair his fractured pride yet. If only he could claw back some power, some control to level the uneven scales of strength.

 

 “How did the twins come to you?” he asked quickly, wanting to change the subject from his potential betrayal of their kindness. Accalia smiled fondly, bitterness just touching the corners of his dark eyes.

 

 “There was a report of abuse in one of the foster homes in the city, continual abuse that the muggle authorities couldn’t prove and so Lupa, Echo and Hemming rescued the five children there and brought them home. I took in the twins who were still babies, and the three adolescents were old enough to choose their own families here.” Accalia considered Harry thoughtfully before adding, “it’s a delicate matter. It can be considered both right and wrong. I have heard that outsiders even call us cruel for ‘damning’ the children to our ‘cursed’ lives–”

 

 “I know lots of people who would think that,” Harry interrupted him, grateful to the task at hand (washing the fierce little girl before she wriggled away) to give him an excuse not to have to meet Accalia’s eyes. “I used to think that, but having lived the childhood I did…” He paused for a moment, forcing his unwilling memory back to that time where he would fantasise that someone would come and rescue him from the misery of Privet Drive. “I think if someone had given me the choice, to be raised as I was, unwanted and neglected or cared for as a werewolf, I would have chosen to be a werewolf any day.”

 

 “That’s encouraging to hear,” came a voice from behind them. It made Harry whirl around and the twin still in his grasp squeaked delightfully as Harry lifted her clean out of the water, her still moving legs splashing at the surface like a propeller. Greyback had just walked into the wash area of the den, watching them (Harry in particular) with an odd look in his eyes.

 

 “You look good with a cub in your arms,” he mused, his voice gruff but smooth and his appearance dishevelled from the hunting trip he had just returned from. Harry flushed darkly and set the twin down, wrapping her up in a towel, and drying her carefully, avoiding Greyback’s eyes. He could tell the other two were trying to hide their good-natured amusement.

 

 “Don’t get any ideas,” Harry snorted, making sure the little girl was dry before wrapping her up tightly in the over-large towel. “I have no intention of being a father. Especially not of your children.”

 

 Greyback snorted. “Just as well that you’ll be their mother then.” Harry glared at that, but before he could even find words for a retort, Greyback had glanced to where Ghost was sitting dutifully at Harry's side and was speaking again. “You can bring Ghost along on our walk if you want.”

 

 Harry frowned in confusion. “Walk?”

 

 “It’s customary for the mated pair to walk together while the final touches are added to the festivities,” Amoux said, plucking Vilkas from the bath and drying him gently. Harry's frown intensified. Greyback just expected him to know that? He scratched the back of his neck in irritation but couldn’t miss how excited Ghost looked at the prospect of enjoying the forest again under less dangerous circumstances this time.

 

 Harry tried to ignore the eagerness swelling in his stomach as he got to his feet and moved towards Greyback, Ghost following quickly in his wake. He’d been away from the werewolf since daybreak and thanks to his insistence they hadn’t _touched_ since before Greyback was injured either. Harry felt quite proud of his resistance, his determination to keep himself as distant with Greyback as possible.

 

 Except his resolve was dwindling under the pressure of how much he missed whatever it was he felt when the bastard touched him. He felt wanted, treasured, _pleasured_ and so much more that he would never voice aloud once he got out of here.

 

 The sun was still bright in the sky, it was a cool afternoon but beautiful as the daylight swept across the forest, making every blade of grass shimmer while they danced in the embrace of the breeze. Harry couldn’t believe Greyback was letting him outside the mountain paradise and into the forest again after his so recent escape attempt. But then Greyback would be able to stop him from escaping easily if he tried, he supposed, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

 

 He hated feeling powerless, which is what he felt with Greyback near him. Even his own emotions and body weren’t under his control where the bastard was concerned. He didn’t like it and with his recent celibacy, the confusing incompleteness of their bond and the oncoming full moon, it was all feeling more intense than usual. That was why he needed to find his magic again – now more than ever.

 

 Harry walked beside Greyback in silence, trying to prevent the infuriating hurricane of emotions from betraying his internal struggle to Greyback. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He tried to concentrate on the puppyish glee with which Ghost darted from tree to tree, spinning around in his bliss, often bolting out of sight only to fly back to their side again, panting and wagging his tail.

 

 “He’s still a cub at heart, he’s got some growing to do,” Greyback muttered when Ghost bolted back into the trees again. The forest was calmer now at this time of year, mating season was over for most creatures and young were often taken to the meadow beyond the forest to graze. It was safer than the last time Harry had ventured out here, trying to escape.

 

 “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Amoux, Accalia and the other subs,” Greyback noted, “you’ve been happier.”

 

 Harry's skin prickled. “ _Happy?_ that’s one word for it. I call it making the best of a bad situation. Like I said, when I leave here I don’t want to owe anyone anything.” At this, Greyback snarled and seized him by the arm, whirling him around to face him. He towered over Harry as always, but at times like this the alpha didn’t scare him. Harry tilted his head up, facing him defiantly as always.

 

 “You get all defensive when I’m right, pet,” Greyback growled. “You could easily enjoy your life here, that’s why you try so hard to not get yourself too attached, but it’s all futile. You can’t leave me, even with an incomplete bond you’d drive yourself mad–”

 

 “I’d rather be committed to St. Mungo’s than be stuck here as your little _pet_ ,” Harry retorted hotly, but the werewolf ignored his words, his free hand catching the back of Harry's neck and hauling him in close so that he could inhale his scent at the base of his throat, where his mark would forever brand the sun-kissed skin.

 

 “Your body would pine for me, worse than it has these last few weeks even,” Greyback continued, murmuring into his throat, his stubble (which remained neatly trimmed now at all times) tickled Harry's skin as he spoke. “And it would only get worse with time. Do you forget the last full moon so easily? You’d be fucking the nearest solid object in your desperation to be close to me – you’d tear your pretty little body apart in want of something only I can give you…”

 

 Harry squirmed and shoved hard at his chest, ignoring the way his heart was pounding and his breath was coming out in sharp, uneven pants.

 

 “Don’t pull away from me when you _know_ that you’ve missed me,” Greyback breathed in his ear, only to receive a swat in the chest that’s sharpness so surprised him that he pulled back. He frowned. “You’re getting stronger,” he noted. “You’re coming into your heritage faster than I’d have thought.”

 

 “Always a mould-breaker, me,” Harry snorted, taking a few steps back to put space between them. “It’s about time, I’m tired of being the puny one. I wish Dumbledore had taught me wandless magic…”

 

 “You aren’t weak,” Greyback said rigidly, looking quite insulted at the idea. “I wouldn’t have chosen you if you were. And by the time you’ve fully adjusted, you won’t need anyone to show you how to handle your magic – it’ll come to you naturally when you need it.”

 

 Harry raised a brow. “Considering you hate wizards so much, you sound a lot like Dumbledore sometimes.”

 

 Greyback grimaced. “Oh, joy,” he sneered. “And for the record, they loathe me just as much as I do them.”

 

 “They think you’re a child-snatcher, that’s why,” Harry said.

 

 “Despite my reasons, I _am_ a child-snatcher and I do bite them young and raise them away from their parents. That part was built on words from my actual mouth rather than rumour built by wizards who despise wolves.”

 

 Harry frowned. He had the urge to justify the alpha to everyone in the wizarding world – was that because of the bond they shared making him feel protective of him? Or was it just the time they had shared here with the pack opening his eyes? He still wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong. Perhaps to say it was a bit of both was the only justification? If there was one thing he’d learnt over the last few years, it was that the world was painted in grey rather than black and white.

 

 “Don’t waste your time, pet,” Greyback said, as if reading his mind. “I don’t care what they think. Everything I give a shit about is back in that mountain.” He stepped forward, but after surveying him for a moment, made no move to touch him. “And here, I s’pose,” he said gruffly with a smirk on his face that told Harry instantly that he was teasing him. He said nothing and they continued to walk through the trees, following in Ghost’s wake.

 

 It was an oddly companionable silence that they fell into then and Harry felt himself filled with unnerving calmness. This is what he had been missing all day – everything made sense again and the uneasy anxiety that had swelled within him was diminished. Even if his temper and frustration had soared sky-high. Was it simply the incomplete bond? Or did the bastard just really know how to push his buttons?

 

 Suddenly, Ghost’s excited howl ripped through the air. The trees parted to reveal a small glade where a vast rockery rose up out of the ground and glistening water cascaded over the crest into the large pool in the rocky basin below. The day’s setting sun danced across the surface until every rivulet gleamed like diamonds in the now orange light.

 

 Harry paused at the sight of it, every ripple dancing coquettishly across the water as if it were beckoning him toward the pool. Ghost had flown across the rockery that formed the wall of the pool and was now darting in and out of the water descending from the rock that jutted out from above, his tail wagging with frantic excitement. Harry smiled at the sight but gasped in surprise as two large arms tugged him back into the burning heat of Greyback’s body.

 

 “There’s an expression not seen often on the _Chosen One’s_ face,” the alpha whispered huskily into his ear, his hot breath and stubble tickling the soft shape of the appendage and making Harry squirm. He felt like saying _‘I wonder why’_ but bit back the words and the groan that threatened to leave him simultaneously, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.

 

 One arm tightened around his middle, holding him tight against that hard body while a coarse thumb tugged at his captured lip until he released it. The digit forced his mouth to open enough for the tip of it to skitter inwards and tease his tongue.

 

 “If you accepted what you are and what you want we’d see it more often,” that raspy voice whispered. The tone slithered through Harry’s bones, caressing him with all the intimacy and menace of a viper’s embrace. “Come on pet, forget everything – run for me…” The large hot hand around Harry's middle slid down, down, hovering over his groin briefly, before it snuck up under his shirt to brush tauntingly over a nipple. The thumb in his mouth pressed down on his tongue and Harry grunted, squirming again, only this time, Greyback released him with such suddenness that he nearly fell forward clumsily. He whirled around in shock, only to find the familiar silver wolf standing over him, watching him with eyes ringed with supernatural gold.

 

 The beast’s great tail swayed slightly and Harry instinctively knew what it meant. He wanted a chase. Harry snorted, well if that was his game…

 

 Without really thinking about what he was doing, he held the wolf’s gaze and he toed off the shoes he had been given – he would be faster without them, he just knew that somehow. Maintaining the eye contact for a moment longer, he felt a thrill rush through him and flew off to the side, shooting into the trees with a swell of exhilaration. He felt as well as heard Greyback tearing after him.

 

 With his instincts roaring with bliss, he felt deep down for his growing skills and flew forwards with such speed that he felt the cool afternoon air press against his face. Like before, it was a thrilling moment, like taking to the skies on his broom. He ran faster and just when he felt the heat radiating from Greyback’s body right behind him, he zigzagged through the trees to the side, bolting in a complete new direction. Greyback was faster than him and stronger but Harry was smaller and more nimble.

 

 Harry made a wide circle as he flew through the trees, weaving with unnatural ease through their great bodies. He felt distanced from anything but the grass beneath his feet, the air on his face and the sensation of Greyback close behind him. He could hear the beast panting and glanced behind him to see that tail and those eyes betraying his excitement as well. Why did this little game of chase exhilarate him so? And why did he suspect that the fact that he was starved of contact with the brute was only intensifying the excitement?

 

 He wanted him and feared the sensations his touch incited equally. Feared how easily he forgot the rest of the world. Was that because he’d never been touched like that before? Because he was trapped here alone? Or because he was starting to understand the sad, bitter anger resonating in the silver wolf?

 

 They had come full circle and Harry was panting heavily, grinning as he saw the waterfall descending into the pool – he’d beaten the git back! Just as he’d thought that, however, a sharp howl of delight ripped through the air and the wolf slammed into him, sending them both hurtling with a roaring splash into the water.

 

 Kicking out with his legs, Harry swam back towards the surface of the pool, his heart still hammering in his chest when two arms closed around him and hauled him back up to the surface. Harry took in a deep lungful of air and whirled around in the water to find a very naked, very human Greyback holding him tight with his usual wolfish smirk.

 

 Harry could feel the alpha’s heart beating hard and fast against his own where their chests met and couldn’t tear his eyes away as he drank in great gasps of air, shivering where he floated fully clothed in the water. Before he could satisfy his lungs with precious oxygen, however, his mouth was sealed with a damp, breathless kiss. Harry's entire body bowed forward with pleasure. The stubble around Greyback’s face tickled his own slightly stubbly jaw and he groaned breathlessly into that mouth, seizing two fistfuls of silver hair as Greyback pulled him tight to his body.

 

 There was no way Harry could misinterpret the hard, swollen organ pressing into his stomach – as a matter of fact it only made his own cock swell with unbearable heat. He bit at Greyback’s lower lip, hearing him grunt with bliss before pushing his own tongue into Harry's mouth to ravage him with such hunger as Harry had never known before. No one had ever wanted him this badly, nor made him feel so alive or pushed the threat and ever-suffocating knowledge of death far from his mind.

 

 Suddenly, one hand knotted into his hair, tugging his head back and breaking the connection with his lips so that Greyback’s stubbly kisses could rest on the dip between his collarbones. To Harry's surprise, he felt the beast’s breaths dust his cold skin for a few, long exhalations, as if Greyback were drinking in the smell and taste of him. He was growling under his breath again, that same soothing, rumbling sound that made Harry roll his head back further and give a part sigh, part whimper. It was so good.

 

 After a few moments like this, he shivered as the cool, late afternoon air swept over his damp skin and the growling stopped. He felt Greyback’s head tip up before he opened his eyes to look at him. “So strong yet so fragile,” Greyback smirked, holding his bright gaze for a fleeting moment before hauling them both out of the water. He was so quick that Harry only had time to blink. He saw the waterfall getting closer and closer, felt it’s cool water briefly wash over him and then they were… _behind it?_

 

 Harry squirmed out of Greyback’s grasp as they entered the cave that had been invisible from beyond the waterfall. He was coming back down from the high he had been on in the pool thanks to the cold lancing his limbs and shivered as he landed on his arse on the ground, wincing. “You really need to learn to let someone take care of you, pet,” Greyback said with a derisive smirk, leaning down a foot or so from where Harry had landed and making what looked like a circle out of the rubble and crumbled rock.

 

 Harry frowned as he watched the precise movements of his large hands. “What are you doing?” he asked, confused just as a soft orange light burned into life beneath Greyback’s fingers, trapped in the circle of stones he had made. The fire swelled higher and higher, until Harry could feel the warmth radiating from it begin to chase the chill from his body.

 

 Greyback sat back from the fire and finally met his gaze. “What’s the matter, pet, have you never seen magic before?”

 

 “You didn’t use an incantation,” Harry noted, his voice almost protesting what he had seen. “The fire just sprang to life in your hands!”

 

 Greyback’s smirk broadened. “Werewolf magic is tied to the world around us,” he explained gruffly. “Deep in civilisation we can still use magic but we have to channel it through wands made by wizards to release our full strength. Out here in the wilderness though…”

 

 Harry watched as Greyback moved his hand through the air, summoning a startling white vapour that followed the path of his hand.

 

 “Out here our magic is channelled through the air, ground and water. We don’t need wands out here and soon, neither will you.”

 

 Harry blinked. “Show me,” he demanded, even as he shivered in his damp clothing. Greyback held his gaze thoughtfully. After a moment, he circled the fire that was now blazing brightly, illuminating the rounded walls of the small cave. Greyback came to kneel in front of where Harry sat and proffered his palms up. With obstinate determination Harry set one of his hands in Greyback’s and shivered again as the wolf turned it over in his grasp.

 

 The firelight bathed their faces and Harry inhaled sharply as Greyback dragged a coarse thumb across his palm, tickling it slightly. The wolf’s skin was hot unlike his own chilled flesh, still prickling with the cold from the water and the world outside. Harry’s breath was coming out in furls of mist and he frowned impatiently, meeting Greyback’s eyes with annoyance when nothing happened. Before he could open his mouth to express his displeasure, however, Greyback had beaten him to it.

 

 “With werewolf magic it works based on what you need and feel rather than what you want,” Fenrir explained, his gruff voice negating the intimacy of his words. Harry could feel the way his breath danced across his palm and shuddered again, not solely from the cold this time. “I know what you’re feeling, boy, so show me,” Greyback all-but purred.

 

 “What’re you–?” Harry's words were cut short when Greyback’s grip tightened on his fingers, arching his palm slightly up, both of their breaths mingling on his open hand.

 

 “It’s one of the first spells any werewolf learns,” Greyback explained in a low voice. His eyes were dark, the flickering orange light of the fire betraying feelings in them that made Harry's swell and bubble to the surface like a boiling batch of _Amortentia_.

 

 Suddenly, the mist of Greyback’s hot breath rolling off his lips and over Harry's hand shone a mystic, glistening blue as if imbued with stardust. It swept across Harry's palm as if it had its own life, sending little jolts of electricity through his skin. At once the soft blue glowed a vibrant red and then deepest violet, midnight blue, then red again, a storm of intense colours that kissed each of his fingertips before hovering over his lips.

 

 Harry gasped, his palm twitching where it remained trapped in Greyback’s grasp. “Let go,” Greyback breathed roughly and with that a softer light stuttered to life over his hand. Harry’s eyes widened, shining with the now erratically changing light in his hand, flashing faster and faster from glistening red to gold, then a confusing myriad of rainbow-like colours.

 

 The light washed over his hand then up around them, sweeping the air up into a spectrum of ever-changing light. It swirled tighter and tighter around them both before bursting into his chest with a final explosion of multi-hued light. Harry gasped for air again, falling back onto his hands, his heart hammering in his chest, his skin buzzing all over as if alive.

 

 “What the hell was that?” Harry asked breathlessly, both awed and anxious at the same time.

 

 “Wandless magic – _werewolf_ magic,” Greyback said with an undeniable edge of superiority, gesturing to Harry's chest. “It’s called the _Heart’s Spectrum_.”

 

 At this Harry flushed, righting himself where he sat, using the excuse of edging closer to the fire to avoid Fenrir’s eyes. He knew what that meant without it having to be explained – he wasn’t stupid. The lights had been a confusing, haphazard myriad of ever-changing colour and that betrayed the bewildered, lost state of his soul. He’d always known he was muddled in the head, he just didn’t know it was this much.

 

 “You need to trust me to watch over you, pet. You need to find a moment of relaxation before all of that chaos inside you tears you apart,” Greyback insisted as Harry tried to warm himself by the fire. He felt even colder all of a sudden. 

 

 “Trust isn’t something I can give away, you need to earn it,” Harry said simply, not daring to meet those knowing azure eyes. His heart’s spectrum was a chaotic explosion of madness, Greyback’s had been focused and determined, radiating the clear sensation of lust, frustration and determination that Harry could not fail to comprehend. Greyback knew who he was, what he wanted and didn’t fear reaching out to take it – Harry envied that, whatever else was going on between them.

 

 “So tell me what I need to bloody to do to earn it?” the wolf snarled.

 

 Suddenly he felt the heat of Greyback’s body beside him and instinctively glanced up to meet that unreadable face. The last few weeks he had spent trying to avoid him at all costs had proved to him only one thing, that he only felt any semblance of peace with their limbs knotted together in a sensual courtship that chased his concerns away. He would never stop trying to escape, he would never accept this as his life here but he could not deny that he wanted him.

 

  _Stop being so bloody melodramatic,_ he cursed himself, unwilling to betray his mawkishness to anyone, particularly Greyback who had an infuriatingly powerful insight into his troubles thanks to the bite mark at his throat. He didn’t need to mark Greyback back to know what he was thinking – most of the time anyway.

 

 “What’s happening at the full moon?” he asked after a prolonged silence, changing the subject to one that had been plaguing his mind for the last few days, ever since he had begun to feel the pull of the moon in his bones again. It was coming and he didn’t fancy a repeat of last month or a close encounter with the pack all riled up on hormones and instincts. He had things to do before he could allow himself to be ripped to shreds!

 

 “What do you want?” Fenrir asked in a low, gruff tone. Harry clenched his teeth and glanced to the fire, biting back the shudders that shook him. Among the creatures in their pack he was the weak one, out of him and Greyback he was the one that needed protecting – he didn’t like that. He didn’t like not being able to look after himself.

 

 “Does it matter what I want?” he asked bitterly.

 

 “Don’t give me that shit,” Fenrir growled in answer through clenched teeth. Then after a heartbeat, he added, “each full moon that door that guards entry to our valley also locks us in. It stops us from escaping and coming across humans or strangers that might be in our territory and ripping them to shreds in our mindless states. When we turn under the moon’s pull we act on instinct and can’t be responsible for anything beyond that, so the gate keeps us there, among the pack where we can do no harm.”

 

 Harry blinked at the fire. He was still cold. “That other wolf tried to kill me and _worse_ last time,” he said at last.

 

 “You’re afraid,” Fenrir noted.

 

 Harry gritted his teeth tighter, until they groaned under the pressure of his bite. “I’m not stupid,” he said, by way of explanation. “Is the plan for me to stay locked in the valley with you? Because I don’t fancy being raped or shredded by you all every month, thanks.”

 

 “Wolves are possessive,” Fenrir explained. “I won’t let anyone touch you, to rape, kill or otherwise.”

 

 “But you can’t protect me from _you_ , you said so yourself. I have to play the perfect sub or you could hurt me,” Harry retorted.

 

 “If you marked me and made our bond complete you’d make us more equal under the moon,” Greyback said bluntly. “We’re both torn by the incomplete bond, whether you believe it or not and my wolf will be even more likely to jump you out of the need to assert itself the longer you leave things this way.”

 

 “You say you and the wolf are the same yet you talk about it like it’s separate,” Harry snapped.

 

 Greyback gave him a wolfish grin. “Ah, well it has a mind of its own – I know a part of you that has a mind of its own too,” he murmured suggestively, causing a flush to rise in Harry's cheeks. There was a moment or two and then Greyback leant in so that his chest brushed against Harry's side. Harry swallowed, turning his head and keeping his eyes defiantly _up_.

 

 “Why are you so afraid of sealing our bond? Even without your mark on me it’s still irreversible,” Greyback breathed.

 

 “Because I didn’t choose you,” Harry replied. “I’ve had enough of people manipulating my life by keeping things from me or making decisions for me. Even if it makes no rational sense, I won’t give in and just go along with it anymore. Whether I live or die, everything from here on out has to be of my choosing.”

 

 Greyback tilted his head to the side, closing the gap between them so that their mouths were almost touching. “So choose now,” Greyback growled, one hand sliding up to grasp the hair at the back of Harry’s neck firmly but gently. “Choose me and I’ll make sure no one fucks with you again.”

 

 “Except you,” Harry protested defiantly.

 

 “Only when you want me to,” Greyback smirked. “Once _He_ is finished you can have more freedom to do as you want.”

 

 “And how will he ever get finished if you don’t let me finish him?” Harry demanded, even as he was falling inevitably into the heat of Greyback’s body. “It seems like you’re expecting Ron and Hermione and your two minions to finish him off while I play the dutiful bitch to you in return.”

 

 Snarling in frustration, Greyback pulled back and dragged his fingers through his wet hair. “No matter what I do you’ll find an excuse to not make a decision, a decision that like it or not, you already made last month under the moon. That was _your_ deepest wish and your shitty human morals are just clouding that – you wanted me! You pulled me in and now you’re fucking me about, putting me through this…” He scratched in frustration at the back of his neck, growling in anger. “It’s like a constant buzzing in my head. You and your fickle human feelings – this incomplete bond is driving me insane!”

 

 Harry flew to his feet, hands curled into fists. “Well like you saw with the heart’s spectrum, _I’m_ fucked up and I can’t change that. If it’s driving you even more mental than usual then just bloody let me go like I asked!” He snarled. “I’m not asking you to put up with me, you’re keeping me prisoner here–”

 

 “To stop you from being killed or worse!”

 

 “Oh, don’t pretend it’s for me,” Harry snapped. “Don’t for a second pretend a month is enough to make you give a shit about a _fickle human_.”

 

 “A stupid one at that, if that’s what you think,” Greyback retorted heatedly, fury radiating from him in thick, heady waves. “You think you’re innocent in this, pet but you’re not. I gave you a choice last moon and you made it–”

 

 “Whilst inebriated and out of my mind with the need for sex!” Harry cut across him. “Drugged on hormones of a disease you forced on me!”

 

 At that Greyback roared with fury, lunging forward and seizing him by the front of his damp shirt. “That _disease_ as you put it runs through the blood of every sub and child you’ve been getting friendly with over the last month – through your pet Lupin, through _you_ and it will flow in the veins of our cubs.”

 

 Harry winced. He hadn’t meant it like that – not really, he was just angry. “It doesn’t make me care about them any less, but it doesn’t make me relish the lot I’m stuck with. And I’ve told you once before that I’ll kill myself before anything of yours grows inside me. You won’t dictate my life anymore than you already have.”

 

 Greyback sneered. “The only time you have any peace in life is when I take control of it for you, when I force you to let go. Don’t even pretend that’s not true.”

 

 “I never denied it, but the ones you make in bed are hardly life-changing decisions. You won’t emasculate me anymore than you have. You won’t rule over me like you do over your pack back there and you _won’t_ force this shitty situation we have on an innocent child that I don’t want. Which, incidentally if it did exist, would be part ‘shitty human’ and I’m not sure you can handle that after the outburst I just heard.” He shoved out of Greyback’s grasp, finding it easier than he thought he should have. He was definitely getting stronger.

 

 “I’ve _lived_ a childhood of resentment and not being wanted. I won’t help create a child to suffer the same as me, especially with a prick like you.”

 

 Greyback snarled. “You’ve got some issues boy, but it doesn’t change the fact that you want me, you chose me and now you’re filled with bitterness because you’re getting cold feet.” He seized Harry’s wrists tightly and glared down at him with his teeth bared. “A boy that whinges about his lot in life and then flees at the first sight of any improvement to it has no business complaining in the first place. I think you like to suffer, my very own martyr,” he hissed venomously.

 

 “Just because you can’t understand why I wouldn’t want to shack up with my gaoler,” Harry retorted hotly. “It’s hardly a choice if I never had any other options.”

 

 “You’ve never felt better than when I’m ploughing your backside and you know it,” Greyback spat.

 

 Harry flushed darkly at those words and threw his fist up with all his strength. His knuckles collided _hard_ with Greyback’s jaw and he released him with a roar. “That doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of my bloody life as your bitch,” Harry declared breathlessly. “Whatever you say I need or want, even if I _do_ seal our bond, even if I can be happy here for the rest of my life, I will never want you or anything that you can give me more than my freedom. And the second freedom is in my grasp, I’ll take it without another look back.”

 

 Fenrir visibly gritted his teeth. “If I give you freedom with _Him_ still watching you–”

 

 “So help me to kill _Him._ You say you’ll do anything for me but then you fail to deliver,” Harry cut across him. “Fact is, you’ll do anything as long as it’s what you want anyway. You want me to give up everything to be yours without giving anything of yourself – _that’s_ why I can’t stay here, that’s why I can never choose you. You’re far too selfish!”

 

 “And you’re too self _less_! You’d rather I were like you and wore myself into the dirt under the weight of everyone’s problems?” Fenrir replied. “I do what’s best for the pack, for my mate and myself, forgive me if my concerns don’t stretch as far as the wizarding world that’s done nothing but rip everything I’ve ever cared about to shreds!”

 

 Silence fell then and Harry stared breathlessly up at the alpha, the firelight flickering across his livid features. He had forgotten what Echo had told him about his past until then. It softened Harry’s tense features somewhat, but it did not completely erase the anger or resentment inside him. It _did_ help him to curb his temper however. He missed his friends; Hermione would know what to do about this inescapable situation and Ron, he would offer a few choice swear words at least to let Harry know he wasn’t alone in his troubles.

 

 With a sigh, Harry lowered himself to his backside on the ground and wrapped his arms around his damp knees, trying to hold the warmth inside as he allowed the heat of the fire to slowly dry him. Far too slowly. Now he was sitting again without the heat of rage to fuel a fire in his veins, he was shuddering and cold again. The sky was so clear outside, giving the cool spring breeze free reign across the countryside – and being wet didn’t help either.

 Suddenly, movement behind him made him stiffen in surprise and he jumped slightly, his head whipping around to see a large silver wolf getting comfortable on the ground against his back. Those unfathomable azure eyes stared into him as the wolf’s large body stretched around him, enveloping and warming him with the heat of his body and fur.

 

 Harry stared into his eyes for a moment, contemplating struggling for freedom, but he didn’t. Turning his gaze back to the dancing flames again, Harry tried to shut out the crescendo of deafening thoughts that assaulted him. He lay back against the warm, soft fur without even realising and did not even register when his eyes began to droop.

 

*                      *                      *

 

 It was much later that they finally returned to the valley in silence and Harry immediately sought sanctuary in the den. He wrapped the fur cloak (that he had neglected to wear today) around himself and lay flat on his back on the bed, staring up at the canopy above. And there nightfall found him, still staring, still lost in a barrage of confusion and indecision. He couldn’t leave; he’d known that for a few weeks now. He’d been trying to make the best of things while he was stuck here and he had done so, in all things except for Fenrir _bloody_ Greyback.

 

 The tension between them was worsened by the incompleteness of their bond – or so Greyback kept saying. It was driving him to madness. He wanted him, yes, the bastard made him feel good but he _knew_ he shouldn’t want him and he didn’t know if that should stop him or not. Despite everything he had learned about him in the last few weeks, Fenrir Greyback _was_ a murderer, _was_ a vicious beast. _And he is holding me here against my will, whatever his reasons are,_ his mind supplied.

 

 With a heavy sigh he closed his eyes and pulled the furs over his head. What was he meant to do? He needed to get out of here but he couldn’t and come the full moon…

 

 Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening and closing, followed by Greyback’s confident strides across the floor. Harry felt Ghost shift from where he had been laying across his legs and hop off the bed. He always was very respectful in Greyback’s presence, always moving to sit with his head bowed in respect as if he were a human servant. He’d enjoyed his run today, Harry thought. He’d awoken in the cave to find the wolf had finally joined them with a juicy rabbit in his clutches – he’d seemed very pleased to have caught it all by himself.

 

 At last Greyback reached the bed, which dipped under his weight as he knelt beside him – Harry’s only warning before the furs were tugged from his head and the image of Greyback leaning over him swam into view. He fought to keep his expression vacant as he met that gaze. “Yes?” he asked, nowhere near as nonchalant as he would’ve hoped. The werewolf had the ability to get him worked up and on edge by just looking at him _and_ he knew it, Harry was sure of that.

 

 “I’ve tolerated this moping all evening, boy,” Greyback snapped, glowering down at him in a way that would make even Uncle Vernon recoil. Harry set his jaw and raised his chin in defiance, saying nothing. Greyback continued. “In case you didn't hear, the festivities outside are for us, a celebration of our mating.”

 

 At this Harry scoffed. Of course he had heard the music, he wasn't deaf. He'd been valiantly trying to ignore the merriment and smells of delicious food coming into the den since they had begun at nightfall. He cared about Amoux and the others and the fact that they had gone to such effort for him, but how could he honestly go out there and celebrate a union that he considered a fraud?

 

 At that moment, he felt himself tugged to his feet and the cloak he had swaddled himself in all evening wrapped around his shoulders. “I don’t care if you sit and sulk in here but Amoux, Accalia and the others went to a lot of effort for you. The pack want to welcome you and camping up here in your misery is the biggest insult to them.”

 

 Harry frowned. “I don’t want to offend them but I don’t want to pretend like I’m happy to spend the rest of my life here when I’m not–”

 

 “But you would be,” Greyback murmured, capturing his chin between a rough thumb and forefinger. “Isn’t that the problem? This is like a paradise to you.”

 

 Harry winced and shook the wolf’s grip off his chin. “Don’t start that again. Look I somehow managed to get myself irrevocably bound to you and I just don’t want to make anymore commitments.”

 

 At this, Greyback snorted. “Whatever, I’ll probably have a better time out there without you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself and ruining the mood. If you want to stop playing the martyr for five minutes though and show your face out there, it might make Amoux and the others feel more appreciated.”

 

 “Are you seriously giving me a lesson on civility?” Harry sneered.

 

 Greyback smirked. “Oh you’d be surprised how nice I can be when it’s worth my while,” he said wolfishly, before vanishing out the door, closing it behind him.

 

 When Harry eventually moved out into the night the stars were shining, uninhibited by clouds in the sky and the moon was bright but not yet full. Music filled the air. With a sigh Harry followed Ghost over to the circle, the moonlight rippling through the wolf’s glossy fur as he moved, guiding him to the festivities that had been calling to him all evening.

 

 Accalia smiled as he spotted him and beckoned him over. Almost everyone was dancing or singing around the circle. The children had long since gone to bed it seemed (for he had heard their screeches of delight earlier) and any sight of the meal he had smelled earlier had vanished.

 

 “Amoux has kept your meal warm for you,” Accalia said in his usual soft voice, hopping up nimbly and bringing back a large plate that had been covered with a charmed bowl to keep it warm. Harry smiled gratefully and not wanting to make anymore of an arse of himself this evening, he lifted the upper bowl. His mouth watered at the sight of the finely roasted meat (pork he thought it smelled like, though he couldn’t be sure) and potatoes that had been lightly charred to luscious crispiness. There were some greens too, although he couldn’t identify them exactly.

 

 “Thank you,” he said, still a little sheepish thanks to the fact that he knew this meal was prepared especially for him alone. “You and everyone for all of this.” He gestured to the festivities and Accalia’s lips quirked into a broad grin.

 

 “We just want you to feel welcome here and for you to know that Weylyn and Ulric, they’re the minority here, everyone is happy that you have come. You’re a blessing to us,” Accalia explained, his eyes drifting to where Amoux was among those dancing in the circle, Echo giving her a twirl around the fire with the rest of them.

 

 “A blessing because I could give Greyback kids someday?” Harry asked cautiously. “But what if I don’t?”

 

 Accalia’s smile did not falter as he regarded him. “You’re one of us now, we wouldn’t disown you for not doing so, that is not our way,” he explained. Harry frowned, their selfless and sincere good-heartedness confusing him immensely. He didn’t understand how people that had been so wronged could be so… _good_. He tucked into his food, not knowing how to answer Accalia’s honest words. Unconditional acceptance; it was hard to believe since he had only ever received it from Hermione, the Weasleys and probably his parents when they were alive.

 

 The food tasted as delicious as it had smelled and he filled his belly to capacity until with a groan he set the bowl down for Ghost to finish off. Accalia smiled at him. “You’ve got a good appetite, that’s a good sign for one just awoken. But then you are used to being the exception the way I’ve heard it,” Accalia said, before adding, “I know that you weren’t always unique in a good way before, but trust me when I say we won’t ever be as capricious with you as most of the wizarding world has been.”

 

 Harry smirked. “That’s encouraging.” But before he could say another word, the music halted and some of the people dancing took their seats breathlessly as it began to change. Amoux took a seat beside him, happy to see him. “I do love to dance but I’ll leave the next number for someone younger,” she laughed, fanning herself with her hand before taking up a tankard from by her feet and taking a deep swig.

 

 Harry glanced to where everyone was dancing around the fire to the now low, heavily acoustic music being played by the handful that sat just off to the side of the circle. The beat was low but fast and Harry flushed as he watched the bodies swaying closely together. The leading partner threw their sub out, twirling and dancing them on the tips of their toes before tugging them roughly back to their chests. Each time the rhythm reached a pique of a particular section the sub was twirled briefly into the embrace of a neighbouring dancer, only to return to their true partner, grinding subtly into them with rolling, undulating hips.

 

 Harry caught sight of Greyback among the writhing bodies and for some reason, he saw red. His entire body stiffened as he watched Greyback catch Larentia’s body and tug her back to him, her hips grinding shamelessly into his before she was whirled back out again. There was an irrefutable pleasure in her eyes that made Harry’s blood boil. Beside him, he knew that Amoux and Accalia must have sensed his anger or seen what he was staring at for they both murmured his name warily. He didn’t listen. He flew to his feet.

 

 “Stay,” he said shortly to Ghost as the wolf leapt up to follow him, before storming forwards. _“Whatever, I’ll probably have a better time out there without you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself and ruining the mood…”_ Greyback had said that. _Oh I bet he’d prefer if I never came out at all,_ Harry thought furiously, _so he can rub himself against some slut just because I haven’t put out in…_

 

 Greyback hadn’t responded to her, hadn’t grinded his hips back in acceptance as the others were doing with their partners, but he’d still let her do it and that was just as bad. He’d said that he and Harry were equals in this but they evidently weren’t if he, Harry was forced to stay trapped here and watch Greyback frolic with whomever he pleased. He didn’t care if it was just a dance, he didn’t give a shit if everyone’s hormones were up in the air because of the moon either. If he was stuck marked as Greyback’s bitch, a possession then it was only fair that Greyback was the same.

 

 Just as Greyback threw Larentia out and her hand came back to seize his once more, Harry’s fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist. She stopped, as did Greyback although the others continued the dance, not having noticed the intervention. Harry glared hotly at her, fighting the urge to bear his teeth and snarl like an animal. Instead he shoved her aside and locked his fingers in the fabric of Greyback’s shirt, tugging him sharply towards him.

 

 His mind was overwhelmed with the undeniable heat of anger and lust both, his skin tingling with familiar hormones. Behind them, Larentia gave a growl of irritation as she slunk off away from the circle of bodies dancing around the fire, but as Harry’s head whipped around to retaliate, Fenrir’s fingers knotted in his hair, keeping his gaze locked on his.

 

 Azure eyes shone brightly in the darkness, ringed with amber fire. Fenrir snarled in pleasure at the sight and feel of him, pulling him tight to his body as he continued to move as if his dance had never been interrupted. This time, however, he held Harry’s hips close to his with his free hand, guiding them in slow gyrations, their groins contacting with every other movement.

 

 Harry glared up at him obstinately with blazing emerald eyes, grinding challengingly forward into their increasingly intimate dance, unwilling to let Fenrir win. His fingers curled punishingly into Fenrir’s flesh through his shirt. When everyone else twirled their partners briefly into their neighbours embrace, Harry winced as Fenrir’s fingers dug into him tightly, refusing to let him escape.

 

 The music was speeding up, the intensity heightening and their movements grew tighter and more urgent. Harry glanced to the side and caught Larentia watching them both with venom. “She wants you,” he managed out through the haze clouding his mind with. Words were hard to form. Fenrir tugged his head back again, forcing Harry to look on him and he swore he felt his teeth ache with longing at the sight of Fenrir’s broad throat. Longing to bite and mark so that everyone knew…

 

 “Does she now?” Fenrir growled huskily, whirling him on the tips of his toes before tugging him back harshly to his body, his feet barely touching the floor. “It was just a dance with her, pet, with you it’s more.” Suddenly the beat lurched into overdrive, a throng of sensuality and carnal emotions. Those creating the music with their primitive and yet so beautiful sounding instruments howled to accentuate the symphony, just as Fenrir and the others threw their partners out across the roaring fire.

 

 Harry gasped, feeling the warmth of the fire skim his flesh before Fenrir hauled him back in close so that he could not even feel the ground beneath him, their breathless chests touching. Screeches of delight filled the air as the others all mimicked their movements with perfect synchronicity. Harry half groaned, half growled. There was but a moment between them where he met Fenrir’s eyes, dilated and almost completely amber now. Then his gaze raked over the alpha’s neck, tracking the droplet of sweat that swept down the flesh there. He pounced, seizing fistfuls of Fenrir’s hair as his mouth latched onto his pulse.

 

 A feral snarl seemed to sweep through every fibre of his being, starting in his toes and vibrating up, up until it spilled over his lips as his teeth pressed hard into Fenrir’s flesh. For a moment the hard skin would not give but then the ache in his jaw gave an almost unbearable throb. Fenrir’s fingers tugged again at his hair and his teeth sank into the werewolf’s neck.

 

 Coppery blood sang on Harry’s tongue and the taste startled him into letting go. He drew back sharply, staring up with slightly less inebriated eyes to see Fenrir smirking with feral glee at him and rubbing his neck where the already healing bite mark was shining an angry red. Harry flushed darkly, breathing heavily, lost for words as the music finished and everyone slowly seemed to be realising what had happened.

 

 Before he could fully come back to himself, however, Harry heard the approach of someone off to the side and turned to see Larentia making a beeline for him. “You think you can storm in here and change everything to your liking, you little shit?!” She hissed, coming to a halt before him, towering over him with her eyes dark and her dirty blonde hair mussed from the dancing. “You defy every tradition and law we have gone by since this pack was formed and expect us to lay it all aside for you? You’ve already made the alpha bleed for your stupidity and you still dare to dictate what he does?!”

 

 “Only _who_ he does,” Harry sneered, the wolf inside still in control of him. He glared up at the woman that stood head and shoulders above him. He wouldn’t allow her to intimidate him. He was the alpha mate not her. “If I’m bound to him then he is to me too. So you and any other bitch without personal boundaries can keep your hands off him.”

 

_SLAP!_

 

 Harry’s head was wrenched to the side as she smacked him, hard, full palm across the face. He stood frozen for a moment in both surprise and at the feeling of his senses reining in his instincts once more. At the same time, he was vaguely aware of Echo and a few others flying forwards with snarls of indignation, sending Larentia to her knees in the dirt before him, her arms bent back at an awkward angle to hold her still.

 

 When he finally looked down, Harry saw Echo and two others pinning her in place.

 

 “You have stepped out of line one too many times, Larentia,” Echo hissed at her. “The alpha pair command us and whether you like it or not, Harry is part of that pair – from now on irrefutably,” he added, glancing up to where the blood had stopped flowing from the mark on Fenrir’s throat. Harry flushed but did not tear his eyes away from the scene at his feet. He couldn’t believe he had allowed his instincts to control him like that, couldn’t believe that he’d marked Fenrir but at the same time he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. He would worry about all of that later.

 

 “It is you who have had no respect for either of them or our traditions,” one of the others aiding Echo murmured in a thick, heavy voice. “He is precious to us–”

 

 “He’s a gifted bitch and nothing more!” Larentia screeched from under their hold. Harry could hear her snarling through gritted teeth into the dirt. “He’s got too big for his boots and needs to remember he hasn’t got werewolf strength or any leadership in him – only the ability to spread his legs and squeeze the alpha’s litter from his unworthy belly. He doesn’t even want to be here!”

 

 Harry heard the unspoken ‘it’s not fair’ at the end of her words and stared at her for a moment, before kneeling down so that he could see her now dirty, infuriated expression trained on him in hatred. “So that’s it?” he said softly. “You want to be the alpha mate and you’re resentful because you can’t have children.” The latter part wasn’t a question, he knew he was right and he could feel Fenrir’s gaze on him like an ant could feel the burn of the magnifying glass. He was suddenly hyperaware of Fenrir’s every breath and wondered if that would be a permanent thing…

 

 “She has insulted you greatly, Alpha Numero,” the other wolf at Echo’s side said after Larentia and him had both remained silent for some time. “What shall her punishment be?”

 

 Harry could feel the weight of everyone’s gazes on him. He stood with a sigh, determinedly not looking at Fenrir as he moved back towards where he had been sitting with Amoux and Accalia – what seemed like an age before. “Let her go,” he said. There was an outbreak of disbelieving whispers as Echo and the others did as they were asked. Larentia stormed away but Harry didn’t care about any of it, not even when he felt Fenrir catch him by the arm and steer him slightly away from the circle.

 

 “Why did you waive her punishment?” Fenrir asked, not critically, but in a voice of genuine interest. From the look on his face it didn’t seem like he could fathom it. “Werewolves can hold grudges you know; you’ll regret letting her off so easily. An alpha needs to run the pack with a firm hand.”

 

 Harry sighed again and rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you say I could relax and leave all the worrying up to you?” he said dismissively. “You can be the firm hand for both of us.” At that Fenrir gripped his backside hard and dragged him in close so that the was staring down into Harry’s face. He wasn’t letting go without an answer, it seemed.

 

 “Just because I’m a bloke doesn’t mean I can’t understand her pain,” Harry muttered, glancing over to the circle where the festivities had resumed as if nothing had happened. “I can see it in all of them; she wants to do what her body was made to do but can never achieve. She wants children but unlike Amoux and Accalia and the others, she won’t be satisfied by adopting, she wants her own of her flesh and blood – I can have that and she can’t,” he paused then, taking a glance up at Fenrir before adding, “and I just swan in and somehow manage to get the mate she wants without even trying, on top of that. I have everything she wants and she feels I’m ungrateful. It’s sad, that’s all.”

 

 After a long moment something akin to a smile touched the corners of Fenrir’s mouth and he leant down, brushing his callous thumb over the corner of Harry’s lips. “You have a foolishly good heart,” he said bluntly, but with a look in his eyes that made Harry’s cheeks darken again. Fenrir’s almost smile widened into a smirk as he pressed closer, so that their lips were nearly touching.

 

 “That was a good dance, pet,” he breathed hotly against Harry’s mouth. Harry could not help but gasp and inhale him, his head swimming again. He tilted his head a fraction before he knew what he was doing, ready to accept Fenrir’s mouth on his. But as those lips descended and he felt that stubble tickle his face, the alpha’s words caressed his tongue through his slightly parted lips

once more.

 

 “But I think the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen is you storming between me and another bitch like a possessive demon and spreading your scent all over me.”

 

 Harry’s face burned with mortification and arousal. He knew Fenrir could sense it because he could feel his delight in it pulsing through the air around them as surely as if it were a solid entity.

 

 “You were all over me, pet,” Fenrir continued, “I like it and I can feel how much better you feel now you’ve marked me.” With that he turned Harry’s head to the side slightly, inhaling his scent and staring down at his mark that was now such a startling silver in colour that it almost glowed in the dim light.

 

 “I’ll help you finish him,” he murmured against Harry’s throat, his nose trailing softly over his marked skin. “I’ll wipe him off the face of the earth.”

 

 Harry groaned, his back arching as Fenrir bent him backwards, mouthing the oversensitive flesh of his neck until his fingers scraped urgently over Fenrir’s shoulders.

 

 “Lupa and Hemming are looking for your little friends, they’ll help them. We’ll be able to move more freely and do more once _He_ is convinced you’re nothing to worry about but until then…” He nudged Harry’s jaw with his nose to make him turn his head back and held his gaze as his mouth whispered over his, as if scenting his breath. “Play with me, pet.”

 

 Suddenly Harry’s mouth was being taken, swiftly and sweetly with such hunger that it made him groan into the kiss. For someone who claimed they didn’t like ‘human kisses’ Fenrir was awfully voracious. He grasped Harry tightly, pulling him straight off his feet as he ravaged his tongue with the tip of his, tracing the along it, tasting the sides and scraping it gently with his own muscle.

 

 Harry felt the coppery taste leave his mouth to be replaced with nothing but Fenrir. That tongue swept across the teeth that had broken his skin only a few moments before.

 

“Stay with me,” Fenrir growled into his mouth, punctuating his words by nipping Harry’s kiss-bruised lip just enough to make him squirm and thrust his arousal into Fenrir’s belly.

 

 “Please,” Harry panted, without really knowing what he was begging for. But before he could even worry about it, he was being tossed onto his arse on a familiar bed of furs. Firelight illuminated Fenrir’s body as it arched above him, stripping swiftly. Then the alpha was on him again, his nails scraping across his buttocks until he arched up enough for his trousers to be tugged off of him.

 

 When Harry looked up next he swore he could see the colours of the _Heart’s Spectrum_ blazing in a myriad of reds around them. Not just with his feelings, but with Fenrir’s as well. He could feel them as clearly as if they were his own, running alongside his, entwining with his until he wasn’t quite sure which was which. Was this what a mating bond was meant to be like?

 

 Wherever Fenrir touched left an echoing fire in his wake. It was intense to the point where Harry could feel his own cock throbbing in answer to the heat he felt rushing through Fenrir’s own organ. “Fuck,” he swore, reaching down and wrapping his hand around his burgeoning arousal and stroking himself urgently. It felt so good and he groaned as he sensed Fenrir’s gaze sweeping over his body. It was as if his eyes were inflicting a physical touch upon him and he squirmed upwards, his cock weeping pearly pre-pleasure beneath him.

 

 “So fucking gorgeous,” Fenrir growled, seizing his hips and rolling Harry forward so that he was forced to let go of his erection in an awkward elbow-stand, his shoulders against the furs and his arse upturned under Fenrir’s gaze. Harry felt his arse twitch and both heard and _felt_ Fenrir’s approval. “Very nice view, pet, I feel privileged,” Fenrir smirked, his hot breath steaming over Harry’s sensitive, puckered flesh.

 

 Pressing forward, he mouthed the twitching star of that pink entrance wetly, laving it with his tongue like a man starved. His nose pressed hard into the place just behind Harry’s balls that made him writhe. Harry’s hand flew up to grasp his prick again, stroking hard, fast with renewed desperation. If intimacy with Fenrir had been intense before it was even more powerful now. “Holy shit,” Harry panted, turning his head into the furs, his toes curling in midair. “Shit, please…! I… _want_ …!”

 

 “I know what you want baby,” Fenrir growled against his quivering hole, reaching around and sliding two fingers into Harry’s mouth. Harry groaned around them, licking hungrily, sucking as if they carried the last droplet of water in the world. “You want your alpha’s thick cock,” that sinful voice continued. Harry’s cock jerked in his grasp, his entrance tightened at the words and Fenrir knew it all – could feel it all. He chuckled darkly. “You want it in your pretty mouth, you want to suck it dry, you want it rubbing against you, all over you.”

 

 Harry groaned louder, grazing the rough pads of those fingers with his blunt teeth before sucking harder again. He swirled his tongue enthusiastically around them, his instincts whispering that he longed for something thicker. He flushed at the thought but it only made him harder.

 

 “Oh, yes pet. You want my cock to suck on, you need it. You want it inside your tender little hole until you burst,” Fenrir continued, the fingers on his other hand now joining his mouth in worshipping that puckered opening between words. With his forefinger he tugged Harry open a little so that his tongue could dip inside. Harry made a strangled, sharp intake of breath and a cry at once at the sensation. He loved feeling how much they were both enjoying this. It was the completeness he had been waiting for.

 

 “You want me to fuck you with it until I’ve bred you good, until I’ve filled that belly of yours.”

 

 Harry’s body shook with spasms and arched, his pre-cum slicking the strokes over his now hard, pink organ. “Fenrir, going to–”

 

 “Not until I’m inside you, pet,” Fenrir growled, giving his hole one final lick before beginning his slow trek up Harry’s body. His slightly bristly chin tickled those taut bollocks, Harry’s only warning before that hot mouth sucked heavily on his swollen sac. Fenrir’s nails dragged over Harry’s stomach as he moved his mouth from one ball to another and back again. He mouthed them with wet kisses, tugging on the light hair there with his lips until a sharp sound of barely contained pleasure shuddered through Harry's clenched teeth.

 

 “Delicious,” Fenrir panted, grazing his fangs over the base of Harry’s cock so that his nose just brushed the frantic movements of Harry’s knuckles. “I’m going to fill you up so good.” Abruptly he nudged Harry’s hand off his prick and ran his thick tongue around the shaft, letting his saliva drizzle over every throbbing pink vein. He chased the semi-transparent trail of pre-emission to the oozing slit, probed the tender hole with the very tip of his tongue and worried the taut skin of his frenulum with his teeth.

 

 “Ah!” Harry gasped around Fenrir’s fingers, clawing at the furs as he tried to use his arms for leverage to push further up into Fenrir’s mouth. He sucked almost punishingly on the digits between his lips in desperation for Fenrir to do something, anything to bring him to completion.

 

 “Hmm, such a greedy bitch,” Fenrir practically snarled with pleasure, lapping a few more times at the twitching shaft under his mouth before letting Harry’s backside fall back onto the furs. Harry sat up shakily, watching Fenrir move back to sit at the head of the bed, slightly reclined with his legs open. His heavy, thick cock lay there invitingly, practically beckoning him forward.

 

 “Come, pet, show me how much you love my cock,” he growled, his voice itself urging Harry to slide forwards on his hands and knees until he was between Fenrir’s open thighs. Harry glanced up at him through dark lashes, the flush already dusting his flesh darkening further now. Those gold-ringed eyes watched him as he leant down, his arse in the air as he dragged his closed lips gently over that throbbing column of heat. He nuzzled it hesitantly for a moment, before parting his lips and mouthing the hard shape from root to tip.

 

 Fenrir gave a low rumble of pleasure at the back of his throat, his hand cupping the back of Harry’s neck, caressing his hair in approval. It was that purring sound that made Harry clench his thighs together tight, made his stomach clench and a low gasping whine leave his lips. His mind was clouding again, smothering any inhibitions and driving him purely on instinct – on what he wanted, without caring about what he should or shouldn’t feel.

 

  Harry whined again, gingerly laying one hand on the apex of Fenrir’s left thigh while his other hand directed that hard prick up to his lips. He swallowed it deep, emitting a purring groan that carried sweet vibrations through Fenrir’s flesh and made his hand tighten on the back of Harry’s neck.

 

 “Oh, good boy,” the alpha panted, his muscled thighs tensing either side of Harry as his dipped lower, his nose brushing that dark thatch of pubic hair just at the point where his throat could take no more.

 

 Glancing up at Fenrir with his mouth still full, he stretched his tongue down to tease the last inch that he couldn’t fit in his mouth watching the amber tint to those eyes almost completely swallow the blue.

 

 “Mmmm, mine,” Fenrir growled again, in that way that made Harry whine around his mouthful, sucking deeply until he tasted the alpha’s musky pre-emission on his tongue. His own cock ached with the otherworldly sensation of Fenrir’s pleasure rushing through it.

 

 Fenrir’s pleasure was literally his own, he could feel everything right down to the way the tip of his own tongue pressed into the pulsing vein at the underside of that thick, meaty shaft. He grunted at the feel of it and drew back with a long, loving lick to the swollen helmet. He was lost completely in his task until Fenrir grasped his own erection around the base and rubbed its generous length along the side of Harry’s face.

 

 Harry allowed an animalistic mewl to tumble over his lips. He pressed his nose against the hair leading down Fenrir’s lower belly from his navel. He inhaled his scent and tightened his thighs in an attempt to alleviate the unbearable heat and pressure pulsing there. Fenrir rubbed his hardness liberally over Harry’s face, over his mouth and chin, his throat, coating his flesh with a light sheen of pre-emission and his scent.

 

 “Mine,” the alpha growled again, but more fiercely this time, punctuating the word with a firm thrust along the length of Harry’s face.

 

 Relishing the claiming, the knowledge that he was wanted, Harry gasped. He grazed Fenrir’s muscled stomach with his blunt teeth until the alpha snarled in pleasure, tugging him up his body roughly by the back of his neck so that their lips crashed together. “Mine,” Harry panted against those demanding lips, grinding his cock hard into Fenrir’s belly, the alpha’s own arousal sliding up the valley between his cheeks with insistent thrusts.

 

 “Oh, you have no idea,” Fenrir growled, rolling his hips up to meet Harry’s gyrations, tasting his mouth until it was filled with nothing but him. “That’s it baby, grind your cock into me,” Fenrir urged him, breaking their kiss wetly and seizing his hips to help him rock back and forth against him. The wolf watched his muscles tense with every movement hungrily and blatantly admired the sight of him. “You ready for me to fill your other greedy little hole yet?” he asked, his eyes amber and shining with lust as they stared into glowing emerald green.

 

 Harry’s chest heaved breathlessly but he couldn’t stop moving, he couldn’t so much as slow his frantic grinding into that hard stomach. He felt like he might burst if he did. He was incapable of rational thought or rational words. All he felt was his and Fenrir’s pleasure combined, completely ravaging him. Vaguely, he registered Fenrir speaking and thrust harder into him in answer, only to find himself hauled up into a now upright Fenrir’s lap. Then he was turned so that his back was pressing against Fenrir’s chest, sweat making their skin slide slickly together.

 

 Harry glanced down to where Fenrir’s hands were parting his thighs so that they lay spread open, hooked over Fenrir’s open legs. He saw Fenrir’s thick member resting against his own, twitching and jerking up slightly as if it was still rutting against Harry’s arse. Even the slow caress of Fenrir’s thumbs against the apex of his thighs made him groan a guttural, throaty inhuman sound. He could not help but reach down and grasp both of their organs together, pumping them in hand.

 

 Their combined pre-orgasmic juices slicked his strokes and he tipped his head back wantonly, enjoying the feel of Greyback grinding up into his hand, against his cock, their bodies sliding together with sinfully delicious friction.

 

 “Good boy, that’s what you want isn’t it? A nice thick cock between your thighs?” Fenrir muttered against Harry’s throat, mouthing the silver scar at his neck simultaneously and making Harry shudder as he nodded frantically.

 

 Harry squeezed their damp tips together with a gasp, just as Fenrir nipped his marked throat almost affectionately. “Put me inside you, pet, let me fill you up,” he murmured huskily. His hands slid up to graze Harry's torso and stomach with his nails teasingly, just hard enough to make Harry whine again. “Let me make that scrawny belly nice and round.”

 

 With that Harry released them both in favour of reaching down and guiding Fenrir’s thick, red hardness to his entrance. He hissed in sweet torturous pleasure as the swollen tip pressed against his puckered ring. At the same time, Fenrir’s large hand pressed down possessively over his stomach and his claws scraped lightly over a pert nipple. Harry’s hips shook with spasms in surprise and he sank down, swallowing Fenrir whole inside his body with a strangled cry.

 

 An animalistic grunt tore from Fenrir’s lips and through Harry’s body as they stilled for a moment, the shock of pleasure bolting through them like the chaos from a lightning strike. It reverberated through them with such potency that everything else fell away. “So tight and hot,” Fenrir panted brokenly, losing control of his own words and coherency. He rolled his hips forward, the hand on Harry’s stomach helping him to rock just right so that Fenrir slid even deeper inside him.

 

 Harry turned his head to the side, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Fenrir’s lips as he gyrated hard into his every move, gasping insatiably into that amenable mouth with each jerk. He flicked his tongue out eagerly one last time before Fenrir broke the connection of their mouths to press his nose just under Harry’s jaw, inhaling deeply as their bodies rolled together like liquid. His tight ring clenched ravenously around the alpha’s thick prick, sucking him eagerly deeper. The slight friction between them burned just right, made his cock twitch midair in both his and Fenrir’s pleasure.

 

 Liquid fire oozed from his slit. He nuzzled firmly into Fenrir’s nose with a low husky cry of bliss that was nowhere near human as the werewolf’s free hand slid down to tug his soaked foreskin down away from the swollen pink tip. They both groaned in equal pleasure, their grinding hips moving faster in response. Fenrir’s rough thumb swept across the slit, dragging with it a dribble of pre-come to slicken his fingers as he plucked his frenulum mercilessly.

 

 “Oh, shit,” Fenrir growled against Harry’s neck, his mind reeling, his thrusts intensifying the more he felt of him, the more he smelled of him. “Waited so long for you…” And that was the last coherent sound from him. With a snarl of overwhelming desire he pushed them both forwards, his body pressing tight into Harry's. The smaller man was folded practically in half with his shoulders and face against the fur and his arse in the air, still full.

 

 A sharp cry left him as Fenrir gripped his hips, nipping the nape of his neck between strings of unearthly growls. He shoved his cock hard into Harry’s pliant, taut body, his balls slapping against the younger man’s and obscene wet sounds filled the den. mixed with their unified snarls of carnal bliss.

 

 Harry clenched around him tightly, his hands flying back to spread his cheeks as wide as they could go. He pushed back into Fenrir with wanton abandon. His own neglected prick slapped wetly into his stomach with every thrust. He felt his skin humming with that familiar urgency as the heat in his arse rushed through every limb and appendage until they tightened on the precipice of exploding. Even his toes and fingers curled in tightly, his teeth clenching, making the endless sounds vibrating in his throat sound muffled and coarse.

 

 At last, Fenrir threw himself forward a final time with a roar. He bit down onto the silver-hued flesh where he had left his mark and slammed his hips forward a final time. His cock pulsed deep in his mate as he spilled himself, seemingly endless tides of potent white-hot pleasure. His muscled were tensed to the point of pain and he ground his teeth into Harry’s neck with a ferocity that was just this side of painful. The skin there could not break, was invincible ever since Fenrir had marked and healed it but it was sensitive and when Harry cried out in pained pleasure, the alpha let go.

 

 Still panting for breath and incoherent with post-orgasmic sensation, Fenrir pulled back from his mate’s wet hole, growling in appreciation when he saw that abused pink ring tighten in an effort to keep his come inside. He grunted and rolled his mate over, relishing in the sight of his sweaty skin shining in the firelight and his cock still hard and neglected against his stomach.

 

 Harry whined in urgency, suspended from the edge of ecstasy by scalding, unbearable pleasure itself. His hips jerked upwards. Fenrir growled back reassuringly. He licked at Harry’s kiss-bruised mouth before dipping down to trace the shape of his jaw and the tendons on his throat with his lips and teeth. Moving lower, he nipped hungrily at his clavicle, driving sweet whining pants from his mate’s throat as he caught a dusty nipple between his teeth. He grunted in answer to his cries and finally came to lie between his quivering thighs, his hot breath dusting that pulsing hardness at the same moment as he spread that tender hole wide, watching his fluids weep from that still twitching ring.

 

 He snarled in delight at the sight, catching a falling globule of come with his fingers and shoving it back inside, two fingers, then three, then four in rapid succession. He pushed in, twisting them just right so that hot channel clamped down tight on his thick digits, sucking him in ravenously.

 

 Scant centimetres from his face Harry’s cock jerked as Fenrir pressed into his perineum with his thumb, pushing his fingers in and out with hard, unrelenting thrusts so that filthy wet noises punctuated his actions. Those balls were taut and heavy above his hand and he leant down, rolling them over his lips and tongue, the only warning before he swallowed that needy prick right down to the root.

 

 That was it, Harry gave a guttural groan and arched up, his pleasure bursting deep in his belly and rushing forward into Fenrir’s eager mouth that swallowed up everything he could give.

 

 He was panting heavily, his limbs shaking as he spiralled back down to find Fenrir still sucking him dry and those thick fingers still milking his prostate for everything he had. He gave a low whine and those azure eyes still ringed with amber (but gradually turning back to blue) met his gaze. The delicious torment stopped.

 

 Fenrir pulled his fingers from him and released his flagging erection from his lips wetly, but did not move from between his thighs. He was staring. Harry relished in it and his closeness as he lay there quietly, waiting for his breathing and his heartbeat to return to normal. That was until the fog of arousal receded from his mind and awkwardness found him still quite naked and spent, spread wide under Fenrir’s gaze.

 

 Harry shifted, moving to cover himself up but Fenrir gripped him tight around his thighs, stilling him. “I want to watch,” he said by way of explanation, spreading Harry’s sensitive hole and rubbing the tender ring of nerves until his muscles reflexively let the heavy load inside him ooze out.

 

 “No!” Harry gasped weakly in mortification, struggling but unable to move. He felt Fenrir’s hot come drizzling between his cheeks and knew Fenrir could see it, it was so…bad.

 

 “Sexy,” Fenrir grumbled in approval, rubbing Harry’s arse appreciatively before rolling back onto the furs. He tugged Harry with him until they were resting with his chest to Harry’s back, and his nose resting against his neck just under his ear again.

 

 “I’m sticky,” Harry muttered in half-hearted protest, his cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking and his body still tingling in all the wrong places. He swore he could still feel Fenrir inside him. Those arms tightened around him and he stilled, feeling the alpha’s heart beat slowing down to normal against his sweat-dampened back. He could not deny how good it felt to lay here like that and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to deny it either.

 

 “Did you mean what you said?” he asked, breaking the silence when he could trust his voice not to crack, although his words were slightly coarse from all the noises he had made. “Before,” he elaborated, “about helping me to get rid of Vol– _Him_?”

 

 Fenrir seemed to freeze for a moment, before rolling him onto his back so that he could stare down into his eyes. All of the amber had vanished now, leaving only clear shining blue. “I don’t lie, pet, I can’t to you,” he said in his usual rough voice. “I don’t give a shit about _Him_ , but you do and that makes it my problem. Besides,” he paused a moment, considering Harry closely. Harry could feel an odd flutter of emotions that weren’t his own inside him but could not identify exactly what Fenrir was feeling as he muttered, “if he’s out of the way, you’ll be able to focus solely on me.”

 

 Harry stared at him, stunned by the sincerity in his words before he turned his head to the side and scoffed awkwardly. “Typical, greedy bastard–”

 

 “Oh very,” Fenrir smirked, turning his face back to look on him, ensuring their eyes met once more before he continued. “But I meant what I said; we have to wait until he thinks you’re not a threat, until Hemming and Lupa report back from your friends at least. And if you try to run off and handle things on your own beforehand I’ll drag your arse back here every time.” His voice was stern and unmoveable but that odd unidentifiable fluttering of his emotions was still swimming through Harry’s head.

 

 Eventually Harry sighed, he could tell that there was no scheming maliciousness or lies in his words, he _felt_ the truth in him and the last few weeks had showed him a slight insight into the pack’s ways. They shared their troubles, so he knew what Fenrir thought on his situation with Voldemort. He would accept his words for now, but he wouldn’t sit here forever, content to wait it out while everyone else risked their necks. Things would no doubt be much easier with Fenrir’s help, however, especially as Harry knew that despite his flaws, he would have his back whatever happened.

 

 They were bound together now; there was no going back. He finally appreciated that for what it meant now. He would never feel alone, never _be_ alone again and that wasn’t all that bad, was it?

 

 “What’s going to happen at the full moon?” Harry asked after a while, realising awkwardly that Fenrir had been looking thoughtfully at him the entire time.

 

 “You’re mine now, utterly, completely and you can wash ‘til your skin is red raw but you’ll smell like you’re mine as well,” Fenrir explained, leaning in so that his nose stroked down the side of Harry’s. “I couldn’t kill you now, even as a wolf and the rest of the pack will know you even in that state as well. They might play rough but you’ll come to no harm with us, pet.”

 

 Harry thought about his words and the sincerity of them before he nodded slowly, trying to ignore the uneasiness concerning the full moon that failed to ebb from the forefront of his mind. Evidently sensing his agitation, Fenrir tilted his head, his tongue swiping across Harry’s lips before his mouth mimicked the motion swiftly. When he drew back, he rolled onto his side and let a possessive, heavy arm fall over Harry’s body. His nose nestled into the marked side of Harry’s throat. He was sniffing him again, as if his scent were an addictive drug.

 

 “You kiss me a lot you realise, considering it’s a ‘human’ thing,” Harry muttered, unable to help himself.

 

 Fenrir snorted, pinching Harry’s earlobe between his teeth in teasing punishment. “I suppose they had to get some things right – they seem to manage fucking quite well,” he said lewdly, running a hand over Harry’s stomach. “Their beer is pretty good too.”

 

 Rolling his eyes, Harry seized Fenrir’s wandering hand as it was about to skip lower and turned his head so that the wolf was forced to look at him instead of inhaling his throat. “All the important things?” Harry mused tiredly.

 

 Fenrir smirked. “Well, the humans that made you did an alright job as well I s’pose.”

 

 Harry stared at him. “I think I bit you a bit too hard earlier, that was almost sentimental.”

 

 At this Fenrir let out a sound that was part growl, part bark-like laugh as he rolled Harry on top of him, seizing the hair at the base of his skull with mock ferocity in his fist. “And I don’t think I fucked you hard enough if you’ve still got the energy to give me cheek,” the wolf murmured huskily, his voice thick with promise.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	10. Only the Moon Howls

Author’s Note:

**WARNING THERE IS A SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER THAT MOST OF YOU WILL BE SQUICKED BY.** I’m expecting lots of hate mail from it actually but I _am_ prepared and any comments complaining about it will be ignored because **I AM WARNING YOU NOW that as soon as you start to feel squicked, you are completely free to skip to the next scene. It is NOT the scene with ‘the other wolf’ that you first come across. The one you have to be worried about is about 2/3 of the way in. If it starts to freak you out, the part where it reads _‘Unyielding sunlight burned into Harry’s eyelids’_ is the safe zone so run there if you get afraid when it all starts to go downhill. ** You’ll know what bit I mean when you come to it, I don’t need to be explicit here. Just be warned. I hope it doesn’t put any of you off the story as it is just one scene - you won’t be confused if you skip it as Harry, Fenrir and Co. will refer to what happens in enough detail that you still understand. Hopefully I won't lose any of you because of it :(

Anyway, with that warning said, please enjoy the chapter :) I’m getting married tomorrow so WOOO!! See you next week as a married woman!

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

.: Chapter Ten :.

Only the Moon Howls

 

 

 

 A heavy veil of icy fog settled over Harry’s dreams over the next few days. He didn’t see anything in particular when he slept but he could sense Voldemort’s grasping, spider-like fingers clawing frantically at the world, searching for his mind. Harry was for once perfectly safe from his thoughts and he could not help but wonder how long it would take for Voldemort’s paranoia to overwhelm him.

 

 Fenrir assured him there was no way Voldemort could get in – that no one could get in if they weren’t part of the pack and even if he could, as far as Voldemort was concerned Harry was being tortured into an amicable lap dog. “With his connection to your mind blocked he has no way of telling otherwise,” Fenrir had said, but when Harry asked what would happen if Voldemort called for him to produce his ‘prisoner’ as he’d promised, Fenrir could offer nothing more than “we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it, pet.”

 

 The last few days had been… _something,_ however. Everyone, even Ghost seemed to notice the change between the alpha pair.

 

 Heat tingled across Harry’s skin like thousands of tiny zaps of electricity tugging at every hair on his body. He remembered the deep insatiable ache in his belly, the call of his moon heat from last month. This time however, anyone that so much as looked at Harry for longer than a moment had their heads nearly bitten off by Fenrir in his own frustrated, possessive moon heat.

 

 It’d gotten to the point where Accalia had even been growled at warningly when he’d come to relieve Harry of the twins, who had been spinning around him with glee all morning. The children were allowed to climb all over him, it seemed, but no adult – mated or not was permitted within a few feet. Oddly enough though, Harry understood it.

 

 Fenrir was horny and possessive because the moon was bringing their instincts to the surface and among the pack, everyone seemed to be more… _animal_ with each day approaching the full moon night. Even Harry was feeling it today; he had the unmistakeable urge to go down on his knees and grind himself shamelessly against Fenrir’s body, but had thankfully managed to refrain – for now.

 

After Weylyn had invaded the invisible boundary around Harry on his way past him and ended up in a (apparently harmless) tussle on the ground with his alpha, Harry had ‘suggested’ he and Fenrir take a walk again. It was quite interesting, the power of his persuasion at this time of the month; Fenrir seemed quite amicable to anything he suggested.

 

 “Will you let me run you, pet?” Fenrir growled as they walked through the winding tunnels that lead out of the mountain, Ghost’s pale fur glowing in the dim light ahead. Harry was distracted by the healthy; eager bound of the adolescent wolf ahead and failed to answer in his distraction. Unfortunately, his mate’s already fragile patience was completely absent today. Abruptly Fenrir seized Harry’s throat, pulling his head back so that he could press his nose against the silver scar at Harry’s neck. He inhaled and it seemed to calm the ferocity in him a little. But Harry already knew werewolves were temperamental and feisty, even more so near the moon.

 

 “Let me chase you,” Fenrir murmured, licking him.

 

 “Soon,” Harry promised, pacifying him before moving out of Fenrir’s hold and following Ghost through the tunnels, the alpha close behind him. He didn’t know what it was that he had with Fenrir, but he liked it, liked the feel of him when he was close by. Even he couldn’t deny that a zing of arousal burst through him whenever the werewolf grabbed him as he had a moment ago. He was born for this, he supposed, as everyone had been saying for the last month.

 

 Once they were a few feet out of the cave and the entrance to it had closed up behind them, a low, impatient half-whine, half-growl sounded from behind him. Harry turned to see the familiar silver wolf staring back at him with eyes rimmed with gold, panting heavily. His legs and tail were stiff, his ears erect and forward – showing every inch his dominance. He was staring penetratingly at Harry but when Harry didn’t move, his stiff tail moved high and wagged from side to side playfully. He wanted Harry to run.

 

 Harry stared at him levelly for a moment, and bent down to retrieve Fenrir’s trousers that had fallen to the ground as he’d transformed. Tugging off his own trousers (his shirt long forgotten in the den, for he could not bear the feel of clothes on his skin at this time) he offered them to Ghost, who gripped them between his teeth.

 

 “Meet you at the waterfall,” he said and with a muffled yip, Ghost sped off like a wolf on a mission, the garments tightly gripped in his jaws.

 

 It felt good to get out of those restricting, itchy, unbearable clothes; so good that Harry gave a sigh. His instincts ruling his actions meant that he didn’t care so much about his nudity. Modesty didn’t occur to a werewolf and the werewolf in him was the most dominant at the moment, with the moon tugging at his senses. It wasn’t too far away.

 

 A sharp growl reminded him that his mate was watching and Harry cocked his head. The wolf’s tail was wagging more frantically now. A low whine left his own human lips as he stepped forwards, reaching out and running his fingers over Fenrir’s muzzle. He smirked when the giant wolf nudged into his hand, dipping his head so that Harry’s fingers slid back over his furry ears. A rumbling sound of contentment left him when Harry spanned the remaining space between them, resting his head against Fenrir’s neck and dragging his fingers firmly through his thick silvery fur.

 

 His sensory perception in overdrive, Harry mimicked the sound at the feel of that soft coat tickling his chest. “Nice,” he managed out; his voice low and almost lost on the air. He couldn’t manage more than one or two words at a time at the moment, incoherent sounds and actions felt so much more natural.

 

 With a rumbling sound of agreement, Fenrir nudged him firmly, sending him stumbling back a few feet. He still wanted to play chase it seemed and Harry was more than happy to oblige. In an instant he’d turned and bolted into the trees, the pounding of Fenrir’s paws on the earth sounding loudly as he flew after him.

 

 The familiar rush of excitement from the chase pounded through his body and Harry found himself purposefully brushing against trees on his way through the forest, leaving a trail of his scent in his wake. A quick glance round showed his tactics driving his pursuer into frenzy, pausing to sniff frantically at anything Harry had rubbed against with his tail high.

 

 If anyone had told him a month ago he would be running through the forest _naked_ with Fenrir Greyback he would have keeled over laughing, but this felt so…right. Right now, it was as Fenrir had said before, the wolf and the human were one in the same. With a breathless smirk Harry dove between two trees, coming out panting and sweaty by the pool and waterfall they had been at only a few days ago. Ghost was lounging beside their clothes far to the side and pricked his ears at the sight of him, ever watchful.

 

 On hearing Fenrir coming up behind him, Harry sloped down into the pool quickly but silently, taking a deep gasp of air before submerging himself in the water. He waited, perfectly still under the cover of the lightly rippling surface but after a moment or too, his lungs began to ache for air. Cautiously, he pushed his head above the surface and gasped as he saw the silver wolf standing on the edge, watching him with those piercing eyes. The alpha growled playfully, Harry’s only warning before he leapt in after him with an almighty crash of his body against the water.

 

 Harry's sounds of laughter were cut short as Fenrir dragged him under, circling him with great swipes of his feet treading the water. His massive muzzle pressed into Harry as he moved, the power of him sending Harry gliding back in the pool. Harry let it happen, holding his breath and kicking his feet to stay afloat. As they moved he ran his fingers through Fenrir’s fur, revelling in the way it felt to his heightened senses.

 

 After a moment, when the need for breath was just beginning to ache in his lungs, Fenrir’s nose nudged him upward. He rolled over the wolf’s head in the water until he was lying with his belly on Fenrir’s back. A rumble reverberated through the pool and Fenrir surged up, breaking the surface along with Harry, who gasped in the delicious air that was so fresh on his tongue. He even relished the very feel of the droplets of water rushing down over his bare skin.

 

 Harry gave a small, inhuman yip of breathless delight and gripped Fenrir tightly with his thighs to keep himself secure as the wolf ambled out of the pool. He shook himself dry fiercely and Harry hung on tighter to avoid being dislodged, only to roll down off the side and land with a thud on the grassy bank.

 

 At their side, Ghost was wagging his tail, apparently happy to see Harry enjoying himself. Harry beamed at him, about to roll onto his front to move closer to him only to have a massive paw pin him carefully (but firmly) in place on his back. The rough pads tickled his stomach and he squirmed, whining deep in his throat when Fenrir leant down to sniff at his neck.

 

 Harry turned his head to the side in sated submission, lying completely flat, content and unhampered by the need to make any decisions or fight to draw his next breath. It was peace he felt as Fenrir snuffled at his neck, then his chest and stomach, skipping down to rub his face along the length of Harry’s legs and feet. The wolf scented him thoroughly before stretching out on the grass beside him with a grunt of contentment.

 

 Harry moved over on all fours until he came to lay across Fenrir’s back. He rubbed his cheek into the warm fur at the back of his neck, sighing at the sensations he felt rushing through him. With every day that passed he was becoming more aware of everything, more understanding of himself for the first time in his life.

 

 

 The sun warmed the sleeping trio, allowing them to bask in its heat together, that was until a call of nature tugged Harry awake. He groaned, letting his muscles stretch as he rolled carefully off of Fenrir’s back and glanced around for a place to relieve himself. He raked his fingers through the grass, relishing its cool caress on his limbs before he rose to his feet, striding into the bushes. Leaning against a tree with one shoulder, he took hold of his penis and relieved himself at its roots, the slight ache in his bladder subsiding slowly.

 

 Just as the flow had died, however, he felt an overwhelming presence behind him. His limbs tightened briefly and he groaned before dropping to his knees. He could smell a dominant; he needed to show his submission. The dominant partners were possessive and territorial and Fenrir even more so over him because of what he was – a breeder. But he, Harry was only one of a few and so carried instincts that urged him to preserve himself when they were at their peak. He knew what to do to ensure his life; it was engrained in him so deep he didn’t even need to think.

 

 “Oh, baby you’re a bonny little thing,” a familiar coarse voice whispered. Harry lowered his eyes and didn’t move as the male circled him, coming to stand before him. “You smell of the alpha, but you’re so ready and all alone.”

 

 Harry did not move even as, out of the corner of his eye he watched the male direct his own long, limp cock to spray over the place Harry had just relieved himself.

 

 Harry swallowed uneasily, the other male was double-marking, he knew what that meant and he shuffled backwards to avoid the flow. A warning growl froze him before he got more than a few feet away. He whined low – in fear and submission rather than bliss as he had with Fenrir earlier and rolled onto his back, exposing his throat and stomach in his one greatest defence mechanism.

 

 It was fur that he saw above him next rather than a man, dark brown fur mottled with white and grey but carrying a scent he recognised. The wolf was big but not quite as big as Fenrir, Harry realised as the beast moved to stand over him, snuffling firmly at his hair and neck, probably smelling Fenrir all over him. Harry arched his back and spread his legs in the dirt, willing his alpha’s scenting to rise from his skin and whined again when he felt teeth skim his silver mark.

 

 Then, suddenly he saw it, the beast’s large unsheathed red penis, erect and hovering just a few inches from him. Panic seized him and he snarled in fear and fury at once. Bunching his legs under the monster’s stomach he kicked hard upwards, sending the creature rearing back in winded shock.

 

 Harry gasped and rolled onto his feet, bolting from the cover of the trees. The wolf swiped at him, sending him hurtling into the ground. He yelped as the beast nudged his hind-quarters up and began shifting behind him in a way that made Harry's stomach lurch. This wolf was strong but it wasn’t his mate. He could feel the heat coming off of the creature’s body overwhelming him and he snarled again. When a large paw came down threateningly beside his head he instinctively lashed out and sank his blunt teeth as hard as he could into the leg it was attached to.

 

 It was hard enough to leave the taste of hot metallic blood in his mouth and he growled again, spitting the blood out and kicking the creature hard on his muzzle when his mouth descended in a would-be subduing bite. A huge paw swiped him across the cheek, sending his head snapping to the side so that he could taste his own blood in his mouth next. But just as that jaw descended to punish him, another snarl came from the side and Harry saw a flash of grey as Ghost flew over him, his fangs sinking hard into his assailant’s muzzle.

 

 Harry shoved up onto his haunches as Ghost dropped back to his side on his paws, his tail high and mouth drawn back in aggression. It reassured him, but it was the low rumble of a growl that Harry _felt_ more than heard beside him that made his panic subside. The alpha’s presence made the very air he breathed in thick and warm. Still, Harry had another’s scent clinging to him now, that wasn’t right. He whined again, rolling onto his back and staring up as the familiar silver wolf came into view, standing over him but with his eyes locked on the attacker.

 

 It was as if he hadn’t noticed Harry at all. Despair filled him. He wanted his alpha to acknowledge him, to show him that he wasn’t angry at him for the scent that tainted his own. Harry pressed his head hard into the dirt and arched a little, letting a low, desperate sound trickle over his lips. That pitiful sound made Fenrir’s head jerk down to him, his eyes almost completely overwhelmed with gold.

 

 That silver head descended and Harry arched up to meet it. A relieved exhalation left him when that muzzle nuzzled him intimately at his throat and torso, a long wet tongue swiping at the length of him in assurance. Fenrir butted him gently with his nose on the bruised side of his face, urging him back onto his feet. Slowly, Harry rose and caressed his alpha’s flanks as he walked behind him out of the way.

 

 As he moved out of their range with Ghost at his side, still watching the two werewolves stare each other out, Harry felt his mind clearing a little of the haze of instincts. With their hormones all running so high, he was sure that the pheromones his ‘dominant’ colleagues were putting out were a large part of why he had lost himself a little just then. That and the warm throb of the moon’s presence growing ever nearer.

 

 Still, he flushed as he remembered what he had done a moment ago and moved towards where they had relaxed earlier to pull his trousers back on, suddenly aware of his nudity too. No sooner had he covered what little remained of his dignity, however, than all hell broke loose. A living ball of fur, fangs and snarling bodies rolled across the dirt. A roar Harry identified as Fenrir’s filled the clearing – it carried through Harry's body like an earthquake and he stood still as he watched the silver wolf throw the darker one from his body, sending it sprawling across the ground.

 

 It was not in ‘weakness’ that he stood still, but in ‘rightness’. It was Fenrir’s responsibility to fight as the alpha, as his mate and he knew that deep down. Despite his true mind returning to him, he could not force himself to move knowing that.

 

 The other wolf groaned as he morphed back into a man, a sign of contrition even as he stumbled to his feet. Still a wolf, Fenrir snarled at him again and pawed at the earth, his fangs bared warningly. Harry watched as the assailant, _Weylyn_ bowed his head and exposed his neck in apology to Fenrir.

 

 “Alpha, forgive me – it’s the moon tonight and I was having a run when I smelt his fluids. I am sorry, I was too weak, Alpha, he smelt so–”

 

  _SLAM!_

 

 A swipe of Fenrir’s massive paw sent him sprawling back in the dirt and Harry watched as Weylyn clasped his face and blood wept from his chin onto the ground. _He’s paying him back in kind for what he did to me,_ Harry realised, _before he punishes him for the sheer disrespect of his actions._ He’d lived with them for nearly a month and he knew how precious reverence was among the pack.

 

 “Fenrir!” Harry shouted, forcing back his instinct to remain still when he watched the silver wolf lunge for Weylyn again. “Fenrir, stop you’ll kill him!” He bolted across the grass, surprising himself with his own speed and strength as he found himself in front of Fenrir and on all fours between him and Weylyn. He gasped and Fenrir skidded to a halt in the dirt, growling at him, leaving no room to mistake his meaning. _Get out of the way._

 

 “You have other ways of punishing – the moon heat is making us all mad,” Harry tried to reason with him. With a final snarl, the silver wolf jerked and morphed back into the man Harry knew, visibly seething.

 

 “You forget that he was eager to rape you but a month ago with my scent still on you!” Fenrir snapped through gritted teeth, “there are only so many times a disrespectful pig like him can be forgiven.” He moved forwards, evidently expecting Harry to move but Harry reached out, shoving Fenrir’s shoulders hard. The sharpness of the action halted him again, even though Harry didn’t say another word.

 

 With a snarl, Fenrir reached up, his rough thumb brushing over Harry’s mouth, tugging his lip up at the corner to see blood there. “He hurt you,” Fenrir said with a mixture of barely concealed anger and disgust in his voice.

 

 “I hurt him back,” Harry replied, reaching up and wrapping his fingers around Greyback’s wrist. “I bit the fucker. It’s done.”

 

 At that, Fenrir snorted and gave Harry one last lingering look before circling around him and staring down at Weylyn, who had wisely not risen from his hands and knees where he had last landed in the dirt. “My mate wants me to forgive you, but I know you’re a rotten egg, one that can’t be saved. If you fuck up again, Weylyn–”

 

 “Alpha. I won’t disrespect you again–”

 

 “Or my mate!” Fenrir roared, towering over him. “You seem to have a problem with boundaries when it comes to him. But however good he smells or looks he’s mine. The fact that his pheromones call out to you more than any other sub should only make you want to prove your will and resist.”

 

 Weylyn bowed his head and swallowed audibly, keeping his posture contrite and suitably submissive. Fenrir sneered at him. “You tried to double mark him, you tried to take what wasn’t yours…” He paused to let the dramatic effect fester for a moment and then added, “hold out your hands.”

 

 Harry _felt_ the foreboding in that tone more than heard it and saw Weylyn raise his head a fraction in fear.

 

 “Hold out your hands!” Fenrir roared when Weylyn did not comply immediately. At the bark, Weylyn shakily obeyed. Harry's entire body tensed along with his as Fenrir shot forwards, seizing one wrist and yanking Weylyn up onto his knees by it. With a final snarl, the alpha jerked his hand and twisted the other wolf’s forefinger, yanking it back with a sickening snap.

 

 Weylyn screamed. Harry winced but stood still, Ghost now at his side, leaning slightly against him as if to comfort him. Harry reached down and scratched behind his ears gently, distracting himself from the revolting screams and crunching of bones as Fenrir shattered the other three fingers in turn. When he was done, Fenrir shoved the hands back at Weylyn in disgust and held his own palm out expectantly.

 

 “Give me the other,” he demanded when Weylyn did nothing but hug his wounded hand to him. “Don’t make me wait!” It was a disturbing sight when Harry watched Weylyn offer up his uninjured hand. He wasn’t sure what to make of the satisfaction he felt emanating from Fenrir as he broke each of Weylyn’s other fingers like twigs, the nauseating bloody crunching echoing through the clearing.

 

 “I’ll leave you your thumbs, which is more than you deserve,” Fenrir snapped, stepping back from the quivering wolf with disgust. “Now get back to the den and report to Echo for your duties.”

 

 Weylyn did not wait for Fenrir to change his mind. He bolted from where he lay without preamble, fazing into the wolf as he went and limping clumsily out of sight. It was not until Harry felt Fenrir’s heat against his skin and two strong arms around his waist that he tore his eyes from the place in the trees that Weylyn had disappeared through.

 

 “You didn’t care for my punishment,” Fenrir muttered, tilting Harry's chin up to him, running his thumb across Harry's lower lip thoughtfully.

 

 “I don’t like suffering of any kind,” Harry murmured, “but I do understand why you did it.” He paused a smirk touching his lips. “It’s because you care about me.” He remembered wanting to kill Bellatrix when she had killed Sirius. He remembered wanting to tear Snape limb from limb when Dumbledore had…

 

 “ _Do I_ now?” Fenrir murmured coarsely, his large fingers curling slightly on Harry's bare back, grazing his skin lightly with his claws. “Believe me, pet, if he’d have seriously hurt or touched you there would be no force in the world that would stop me from ripping his throat out. You’re mine.” He spoke with a familiar possessiveness and reverence that filled Harry up from the inside with vibrating heat. The rumbling in his throat made Harry relax in his arms slightly and he closed his eyes, rolling his head to the side to let Fenrir nuzzle into his throat.

 

 “I’d have probably ripped his balls off if he’d hurt you,” Harry muttered. He felt Fenrir chuckle into his throat, punctuating the sound by nipping his silver-hued mark affectionately. He urged Harry closer into his chest so that he could share his body’s warmth with him.

 

 Once the anxiety that had ruled him since Weylyn had approached him faded completely, Harry spoke again. “If I’m an alpha too, why couldn’t I stand up to Weylyn?” he asked.

 

 Fenrir drew back a fraction to meet his eyes. “It’s because you’re in heat. Your instincts tell you to remain healthy and safe and in prime condition for breeding tonight. Your prime objective is to achieve that,” Fenrir explained. “Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t let him get one over on you so easy. You’re superior to him in rank and will be in strength one day soon as well.”

 

 Harry snorted, doubting that extremely, although he had noticed his abilities growing at a much faster rate than he’d anticipated. “Perhaps I’ll be so strong one day that you’ll bare your neck to me,” he smirked without any human inhibition, leaning up on the tips of his toes to graze Fenrir’s throat with his lips. The werewolf growled low in pleasure.

 

 “And that’s what you want, pet?”

 

 Harry tilted his head to the side with a purposeful croon. “I want you to fuck me, before we have to get back for the full moon rising.”

 

 “Mmm, yes…” Fenrir breathed, gripping Harry's hair and tugging gently until his head was pulled back and he could mouth those lips ravenously. “I’m going to fill you up so good the scent of me will be buried in you ‘til the _next_ moon…”

 

*                      *                      *

 

 The rising of the full moon was like a party to the pack, Harry discovered. They had a ravenous feast early under the orange light of the sun to sate their appetites and therefore calm their wolves as much as possible. The excitement as the sun set was nearly tangible, especially in the children who currently were running around him in excited circles. Some were dropping onto all-fours and pretending to be wolves already, pouncing and tussling with each other in the grass.

 

 “Alright, take it slow,” Harry admonished one of Accalia’s twins, lifting her from where she had pinned Vilkas to the floor and setting her on her feet. “You’ve just eaten don’t climb all over each other yet.” The girl squeaked and threw herself at him instead, barrelling into his legs and sending him staggering to the floor. He gave an “ _oof”_ as he landed in the grass and the other tots scrambled over to dog-pile on top of him.

 

 Harry couldn’t help but laugh. He rolled onto his stomach and attempt to crawl away with one or two toddlers still hanging off his back.

 

 “Rawr!” Vilkas growled in his best impression of a bloodthirsty beast and pounced on him, sending the other, larger tots tumbling off into the grass. He dived down, miming biting Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughed and reached back, hauling the small body over his shoulder and onto the ground in front of him.

 

 “Mine!” Vilkas cooed and Harry frowned. “I bit you!” the child elaborated at sight of his confusion.

 

 Harry flushed a little, realising what he meant. “You think I’m your mate?” he laughed. “Don’t let Greyback hear that, you may be small but he’s very possessive,” he teased, seizing the boy under his armpits and rolling him back onto his feet so the tumbling game of chase could continue.

 

 Out of the corner of his eye he saw Weylyn return from his ‘final check’ of the forest and surrounding areas. To his relief, he gave the report to Echo and not Fenrir, who wasn’t in sight at the moment. Apparently it was Weylyn’s job to ensure there was no one in their territory before dark and so reduce the unsettled, territorial nature of the pack. He was the last one back in and Harry watched him turn to close the gate to the outside world. The moon must be coming soon, that was why Harry’s skin felt all… _tingly_ , as if he had pins and needles all over his body.

 

 Then, at last he felt it. The moon was here.

 

 “Come,” Fenrir’s coarse, gravelly voice murmured close to his ear and a shiver ran through him. Harry scooped Vilkas off his back once more before he was steered away towards Fenrir’s den. Fenrir left the door behind them ajar, but they were perfectly secluded in the warm dimly lit cavern that had become so comfortable to him in the last few weeks.

 

 He remained compliant, allowing Fenrir to steer him over to the bed. He sat on the edge, staring up at Fenrir as the alpha slowly began to strip.

 

 “You may not turn but you’ll run on instinct alone tonight as well,” Fenrir explained huskily, not tearing his eyes away as he let his shirt and trousers fall to the floor. “The pack won’t hurt you, you’re above them in rank. If anyone except me challenges you, stand your ground – they will back down.”

 

 Harry nodded, licking his suddenly dry lips anxiously. His fingers curled tight into the furs lining the bed. This was mad, absolutely mad! “If I’m safe, why are we hidden in here?” Harry asked cautiously.

 

 Fenrir smirked. “Because the change is a personal thing for a werewolf and his mate when the other half is a carrier of the recessive gene,” he explained with a look on his face that made Harry even more nervous. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate everyone seeing you like that, especially when you don’t know what to expect…” He trailed off there and Harry nodded mutely, licking his lips again.

 

 “Don’t fuck me as the wolf,” Harry breathed, his words stiff and unyielding but heavy with unspoken pleading. “I don’t…I can’t do that.”

 

 Fenrir stared down at him. “If you spurn me I won’t force you. Werewolves are rough but you’re my mate and you can say no to me. I’d advise you not to behave challengingly but you won’t be _raped_ by me. I won’t promise the wolf won’t get riled up – it’s in its nature to want to breed you, but you can stop me…” He paused, leaning down so that he was resting one knee between Harry’s thighs. “Just as much as you can stop me now,” he murmured, their lips barely a hairsbreadth apart.

 

 Harry exhaled shakily and nodded. _Merlin this is ridiculous,_ he thought, shaking his head and trying to get a grip on his anxiety. He had faced down basilisks, dragons and dementors and yet he was afraid of the man who had been his…his _lover_ for the last month? It was so stupid he wanted to slap himself.

 

 “It’s alright to be a bit afraid,” Fenrir murmured, drawing Harry back from his self-effacing reverie. “I’d think you were stupid if you weren’t. It’ll be fine, trust me.”

 

 Harry stared at him, those last two words striking something odd inside him. “Why can I handle everything else and charge in head first without a thought? This isn’t… I’ve been afraid before but I’ve never frozen up like this.”

 

 “It’s because this is something you can’t fight,” Fenrir explained, with the tone of someone who had explained this to countless new werewolves before. “This is who you are. It’s unknown, it’s bloody terrifying but you’ll be fine. You’ll see.” A small shudder of anticipation rushed through his muscles and he straightened up with a fleeting lick to Harry’s lips, his every limb tensing.

 

 “It’s coming,” was the last whispering growl that left that mouth – the mouth that had worshipped Harry’s body shamelessly over the last month. The mouth that then began to morph into a silvery muzzle. Harry’s entire body froze where he sat transfixed with the change, feeling it sweeping through him as it turned ‘Fenrir’ into ‘Greyback’. His instincts reared up inside him and he felt his head swim with that pleasurable, carefree mist. He closed his eyes, gasping at the sensation of weightlessness and did not open his eyes again until his flesh was humming from the moon’s light.

 

 Greyback gave a low growl of impatience in front of him. The alpha was naturally proud and so as a wolf, he was hungry for Harry's attention always. He straightened up smugly, apparently pleased when Harry looked at him.

 

 White spots danced briefly before Harry’s eyes as the den came into focus and his breathing and heartbeat slowly calmed. With a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat he moved forwards, rubbing his body along the length of Greyback’s side in contentment.

 

 The silver wolf turned his head to watch him, butting his nose against Harry's face as he came to a stop beside him. Harry reached up, running his fingers slowly across Greyback’s muzzle, up to his ears and down again to stroke every inch of his glossy, silky fur. The wolf grumbled low in contentment, bowing his head so that Harry could reach more of him, his tail swaying slightly from side to side.

 

 Harry could practically sense the wolf’s thoughts. This was what Greyback’s instincts had been urging him towards for so long, a mate as stubborn, defiant and strong as him, one that would revere him as he did them. Harry stroked his flanks and the thick fur of his belly and the wolf pressed into him.

 

 They spent some time just like that. The wolf licked and nuzzled intermittently against any part of Harry he could reach, until the initial afterglow of his first transformation with a mate faded into soft warmth within them both. After some time, the silver wolf stretched. Harry watched every muscle tighten with the desire to do… _something._ His belly was full, however, which was good.

 

 

 Harry walked at his alpha’s side out into the valley, where the moonlight streaked across the fur coats of their pack like firelight on water. A dozen cubs of varying sizes and colours chased each other across the grass, yipping and howling playfully, while the adults lay scattered around, content and lazy with their bellies full. A large, tawny coloured wolf was patrolling the group slowly, his ears pricked and tail alert. Harry knew somehow it was Echo, he felt it, just as he knew that the grey wolf laying on her own under the willow tree was Amoux and the darker male chasing the pups was Accalia. It was odd. He felt truly one with his senses like this, with the moon bathing his skin.

 

 Slowly, he followed his alpha to the deserted circle where they usually ate and stopped when Greyback turned to face him, his skin tingling with anticipation. Those eyes were blazing blue, rimmed with gold and Harry forgot all about Voldemort and his quest, about everything and went down on his knees. Rolling onto his back, he turned his head to the side and let out a low whine – it was his mate’s turn to reacquaint himself with his body now as a wolf under their first full moon joined together.

 

 The silver wolf stood over him, his ears pricked with interest and his tail swaying from side to side. The beast regarding him closely for a few, long moments before he bowed his head, snuffling at his face and throat. A large, long tongue slid out, lapping at his face and neck, nipping slightly at the marked side of his throat until Harry arched it to give him an uninhibited view. He reached up, caressing that silky fur encouragingly. It wasn’t a sexual confrontation between them now; it was a purely platonic embrace, another binding commemoration of their union.

 

 That long tongue lapped down his chest, marking his taut abdomen with a line of spittle. With his lower half covered by his trousers, the marking was forced to move lower. Greyback licked his feet intently until Harry squirmed, rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up on his knees again, impatient and fidgety after the torturous tickling.

 

 With a brief glance back to his mate, Harry flew to his feet and forward across the valley in a fluid motion, one with such speed and grace that it shocked him. His mate was pursuing him, the knowledge filled him with such feather-light bliss that he swore he was flying across the grass now, carried by the moon herself – that was, until an unfamiliar scent stopped him in his tracks.

 

 Harry whirled around, his eyes searching the moonlit valley for the source, only to find the entrance to the labyrinth of caves nearby standing open. Humans, he could smell _humans_ out in the world beyond their mountain. Just as his moon-heat inebriated mind registered what this meant, Greyback tore past him, howling in warning as he bolted into the caves and out of sight. There were intruders in their forest and the alpha was hunting them now. They would be killed!

 

 That last thought sobered his moon-drunk mind, sent panic through him and he took a deep breath to steel himself against it, before shooting after Greyback. He pulled the gate shut with a crash on his way through. He paused only a brief moment to watch the vines begin to entangle their way across the grate and lock it shut, before bolting into the darkness. He didn’t need Ghost to show him the way this time; he only had to follow the pull of the bond in the direction of Greyback.

 

 The night air was sharp and fierce, striking him with warning ferocity as he flew out into the forest. The moon heat rushing through his veins made his frantic steps clumsy and noisy as he scrambled through the forest. The white light from above bathed him intermittently, reaching for him through the gaps in the canopy of trees above. Greyback was close by – he could _feel_ him.

 

 Suddenly, a chilling cry ripped through the air from just ahead. Harry shivered, his body hot with longing to find his mate for other purposes than his mind intended. His footfalls hastened as he struggled to hold onto his waning senses. Gasping for breath, he came skidding to a halt in a small clearing. It was illuminated by dancing firelight and filled with fireside mirth that died away into echoing silence the moment he broke into the glade.

 

 “Hey, you alright kid?” a rough yet concerned voice called. The seven figures by the fire all rose to their feet but did not move from where they stood, evidently still wary of the semi-naked boy panting in the clearing. There were two men, two women and three children, the youngest of which only about four or so. The very subdued, rational part of Harry’s mind knew they were muggleborns on the run, but his moon-induced stupor permitted only broken, hazy words to leave his lips.

 

 “Not…safe…run… _Run_!”

 

 The adults glanced at each other in concern, before looking back to him. “Here, son,” the other man began gently, taking a few steps towards him. “Wolves don’t come near the firelight and anyway we have magic to protect us.” He spoke slowly, as if to a much younger child and if Harry had been coherent he might’ve realised how mad he looked running through the forest at night as he was.

 

 Harry shook his head frantically, whining low in his throat with desperation and rising panic. His alpha was close, he could _feel_ it. “No… run… He’s coming!”

 

 “Hey,” the soothing voice of one of the women cooed through the eerie silence and she hastened towards him, gripping him carefully by the shoulders. “Goodness, this boy is burning up. Ray, baby?” she said, turning to one of the men, “He’s not well – and so thin, get me a blanket for him?”

 

 Harry shook his head even harder, trying to push her away. “No…he’ll kill… _kill you._ Run!” he panted, but the woman held onto him brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead gently, not noticing his scar below the tangled mess.

 

 “Ssshh,” she tried to soothe him, before glancing back to her husband again. “He’s delirious with the fever, help me bring him closer to the fire and–” Her words were cut short by a blood-chilling howl that trailed off into a venomous snarl. Every head in that clearing snapped to the side where a bear-sized silver wolf was emerging from the shadows, his eyes burning gold in the darkness. A constant, warning growl was emanating from his throat, his crisp white teeth bared and gleaming.

 

 Harry looked at each of the terrified faces. The woman by the fire clasped all three children to her, the men stared at the beast, unsure of what to do and the woman who still had hold of Harry instinctively put herself between him and the wolf. It sent a spark of déjà vu somewhere deep down in Harry, something that made the overwhelming urge to protect these people completely desecrate any other instinct running through his veins.

 

 Suddenly, one of the men made a sudden movement to bring his wife back to his side and it was enough to make Greyback start forward. Harry gave a shrill whine that cut through the clearing and stilled the big wolf in his attack. His gaping jaws were inches from the man that he had thrown to the floor.

 

 Everyone else in the clearing froze too as Harry threw himself onto all fours, struggling out of his trousers and edging his way toward the wolf. The humans watched on in a mixture of horror and shock. “He won’t hurt me,” Harry managed out, his voice raspy, “but he’ll kill you. Run. Save children! Go!” When Greyback growled uneasily again, Harry whined lower, sliding onto his belly in the grass and exposing his throat to those pearly white teeth.

 

 After a moment, the wolf moved away from the fallen man, who shimmied back towards his family. Harry hummed, swaying slightly to keep the beast’s focus on him as the humans started to move uncertainly towards the trees.

 

 “We can’t just leave him!” The woman who had been closest to Harry gasped, but her husband was pulling at her, dragging her after her children and the other couple while the beast was occupied with Harry.

 

 “He’s with it or something love, now come!” he hissed. The sound made Greyback restless and Harry let out a sharp yip this time to distract him, his mind still only partially focussed, instinct driving his actions more than anything else. When four paws came into his vision either side of his head, Harry rolled up slightly, brushing insistently against Greyback’s side until he heard the wolf give a rumbling growl in response. The humans were gone but not out of danger. They were still close. Greyback’s attention was solely on Harry now, with the moon gleaming down at them as if hungry for a show.

 

 Just when relief began to ripple through him, he felt Greyback’s interest pique. The heat that had been radiating from him suddenly intensified and hit Harry with such force that he rolled onto his back. When he stared up at the sky this time his view was shadowed by Greyback’s massive body that now stood directly over him. Those legs caged him in and his muzzle lowered to his throat where Greyback sniffed enthusiastically. Harry turned his head to give him better access, but uneasiness spread through him as he did so. Something was different this time. He’d felt Greyback aroused in this form before when he nuzzled him but this time there was…more purpose. That long, thick tongue lapped at his throat decisively, sending little tingles through his pores like an electric current running from his head to his curling toes.

 

 Above him, Greyback growled in that way that made his mind fog with bliss – he answered with a slow whine, but this time when he rolled his head a little further, he saw something that made him still. Greyback’s thick, long shaft had slid from its furred sheath and was jerking under his belly, as if trying to get closer to Harry on its own. Harry's breath caught in fear, his entire body tightening at the sight of that glistening wet organ.

 

 Suddenly he was struggling. He let out a cry of distress and kicked out with his feet. He shoved hard at Greyback’s chest and squirmed when the last of the material covering his body was shredded. He scrambled frantically for escape. Even completely out of it, even lost to his instincts and most deepest, darkest desires he knew he wasn’t ready for this, didn’t want it.

 

 A snarl of displeasure cut through the clearing and a heavy paw pressed down on his back, hard enough to still him but not enough to hurt. A panicked growl left Harry then. Greyback leant down with a warning grumble, his fangs gripping the nape of Harry's neck just enough to make his every limb freeze. Harry's heart hammered hard against his ribcage, his breath coming out in frantic pants as he lay deathly still under the beast. It released his neck; it’s hot tongue lapping down between his shoulder blades, then further down.

 

 Harry gasped sharply when fangs and tongue caressed his spine and the small of his back with worrying softness, as if the creature was trying to soothe him. Greyback didn’t like his fear or panic, Harry knew that, but when he was this aroused under the light of the moon Harry didn’t think it would stop him. And the humans were still within scenting distance. What would become of them if he pushed his alpha away?

 

 Panting uneasily, he squirmed when that long, thick tongue lapped at the smooth valley between his clenched cheeks. The animalistic cry of negation that left Harry's lips was answered by a sharp snarl and the wolf nudged him hard with his muzzle, rolling him onto his back. Harry knew what to do; he kept his eyes averted, his throat bared in submission and the wolf above him emitted a low, rumbling sound of approval.

 

 That hot breath drifted over Harry's chest, those teeth scraping his torso just hard enough to leave marks. The tips of those teeth brushed over his erect buds, taunting them into hardness and making Harry's back arch. A low hiss shuddered from his lips. Then the beast was nuzzling at his slender, exposed stomach, a sign of submission he was revelling in apparently, if the way he licked at Harry's navel and surrounding muscle was any indication.

 

 Harry's eyes clenched shut. The sensations and heady aroma of his alpha’s pheromones made his prick harden uncontrollably and arch until the fur of Greyback’s neck just brushed the sensitive tip. He gasped. The wolf growled.

 

 A long, hard unsheathed red erection grinded into Harry's leg, then higher up to rut against his thigh, leaving a thick white trail of pre-emission in its wake. Harry winced. Even lost to his instincts he knew he didn’t want this, he was still afraid and the wolf grumbled in frustration, shifting up to grind his impossible red shaft against Harry's unwilling arousal.

 

 “No!” Harry screamed, managing a human-sounding noise as he shoved hard at his alpha’s chest. The wolf bore down on him, rutting against his cock, fangs worrying Harry's neck. Harry sank his nails hard into Greyback’s chest, shame rushing through him until he swore it would choke him, even the wolf inside him howled.

 

 It was exactly as Greyback had first said. The moon-heat and his instincts did not make him feel things he wouldn’t do otherwise, only lessened his inhibitions, made him seize what he truly wanted. Even both combined could not eradicate his fear of what Greyback wanted him for. Harry had brought this all on himself, had lead the wolf on so that the humans could escape and now, with Greyback unable to comprehend the idea of half-hearted arousal…

 

 Their erections slid together wetly, the epitome of wrongness and despite it all Harry could not help but spread his legs wider. His toes curled in the dirt as his hips rocked upwards with sharp, jerking thrusts that his body made all on its own. His alpha’s cock was hard and hot. Each glide it made along his own shaft felt like a lick from an electric probe, driving a raging torrent through his limbs. He shook uncontrollably, his cock weeping pearly, unwanted pleasure.

 

 He was aroused despite his disgust and as far as Greyback was concerned in this state, that meant he was willing.

 

 Greyback growled again, impatient that he was not able to soothe the fear radiating from his mate. He nudged Harry's belly again until Harry moved, his thighs and groin slick with the alpha’s pre-emission. He was shoved onto his shoulders and chest, his arse high in the air, prey to the wolf’s ravenous tongue once again. That slick muscle pushed inside, tasting the lubricating fluid that Harry’s wanton body created under the full moon. Harry gasped into his arms, his head spinning with conflicting sensations as he was devoured, that tongue touching places inside him that made his tight channel spasm wildly.

 

 The full moon’s light was hot and overwhelming now, illuminating Harry's pale skin and the wolf’s silver fur so that both glistened in the darkness. The entire scene was like that of an ethereal dream now but when the wolf shifted, his massive body completely covering Harry’s, Harry gave a very real, human scream.

 

 Greyback stilled, then nuzzled his neck. He growled in that way that made Harry's raw panic dull slightly, but not vanish. Especially not when the wolf’s hips shifted and the slick head of his impossible erection prodded at Harry’s saliva-slicked arse.

 

 “Fenrir, stop!” Harry managed out, the sound oddly distorted by his wolfish instincts that were writhing through him as if they were living creatures. But Greyback only nuzzled him again soothingly, gripping his sides with his forelegs. Completely lost to the wolf in him, Greyback did not understand shame or any other reason why his mate would fear rutting with him. So he made that calming sound again in the back of his throat, lapping at the mating mark on Harry's shoulder as he slid forwards. The head of his shaft pressured the pink star of his Harry’s opening, firm, insistent and unyielding until it broke through, sliding straight into his white-hot channel.

 

 Harry's mouth opened in a silent scream, his breath leaving him as that erection filled him to bursting point. He swore he was about to _choke_ on it. His stomach ached, his arse burned hotly but not entirely in pain and that made the bile rise even more violently in his throat. His fingers curled in the grass and he gasped as he felt that furry sheath at his opening – his alpha was completely inside him. 

 

 Whining, Harry fidgeted at the immobilising size of the invader and instinctively spread his legs wider in the dirt to try and alleviate the tightness. His mate mistook his squirming for assent, however and began to move. Harry let out a squeak, his prick flagging now as the wolf surged inward, taking him hard and fast, chasing his breath from his body.

 

 His tight ring of muscles shook with spasms, stretched taut around Greyback’s slick heat as he thrust deeply inside, filling the moonlit glade with degrading wet sounds. Harry's erection did not diminish entirely, even as he whined into the dirt. Greyback’s strong grip was bruising him, his claws scraping at Harry’s thighs as he rocked back and forth, in and out without ever fully leaving his body.

 

 Harry clenched his eyes shut tightly, letting out a groan torn between agony, humiliation and tortured lust. He didn’t want this, not at all but a part of him was reacting the way nature intended. He spread his legs wider, shuddering under Greyback’s weight and his body heaved with the great gasping pants he was taking.

 

 Then wolf above him growled in approval, play-biting his throat hungrily, nipping at the nape of his neck and the hair at the back of his head. The beast’s body was sweltering hot above and inside him. His thrusts were getting deeper, the great shaft swelling to the point that Harry swore he would tear. He groaned in negation as it thickened and lengthened with every thrust, fluids oozing wetly from the place where their bodies joined, dribbling down his thighs. He could feel it punching his insides, completely claiming him.

 

 Panic filled him as the end of that swollen gland continued to thicken. His soaked innards squelched. His skin was beaded with sweat. Those heavy, furred balls were slamming hard against his thighs and his own sac with each desperate lurch inwards. It made him cringe and drool hungrily all at once. It was so wrong. He was fucking an animal.

 

 The beast rolled his hips from side to side now as he drove in, widening him until he swore his arse would never return to normal, making his walls quiver. He could not stop himself from grinding back, despite the queasiness in his over-stuffed belly. Hanging his head, he hid his face in his arms, groaning deeply as he took it. _More, More,_ his body cried, _fill me_ – even as his mind screamed, _No!_

 

 Greyback gave his Harry a final nip at his neck before raising his head. He snarled in rabid pleasure as he rolled his hips frantically, trying to work his growing knot inside. He was at boiling point and they needed to be locked together when he reached it.

 

 With a harsh thrust he rocked Harry forward, grinding Harry’s half-erect prick into the ground. The shock of the rough pleasure loosened his tender ring, stretched it to capacity as Greyback pushed his knot inside. Harry's trembling ring tightened around it. Greyback went still. The sound of his Harry’s startled, overwhelmed choke of a cry rang out as Greyback roared in bliss, his shaft pulsing as it burst inside.

 

 Harry's scream tapered into an exhausted cry and his body went rigid as he felt white-hot fluid erupt inside him, filling him to the point where he swore he felt his belly swell. He whined as the tide continued, that thick knot lodged deep inside, keeping him full. The sheer size of it made him dizzy with pain and unwanted pleasure alike. He gave a final cry, his vision fading into black before the flow within him had even ceased. Greyback’s snarl of bliss was the last thing he heard.

 

*                      *                      *

 

 Unyielding sunlight burned Harry’s eyelids, making him squint as he was rudely awoken by it. Throbbing pain coursed through his innards, his belly, his arse and all down his thighs. Even his ribs ached. He groaned softly and his lashes fluttered, bringing a clearing filled with morning mist into view. Harry winced at the pain lancing through him and squirmed out from beneath the sweltering heat and weight covering him.

 

 With a grunt he turned, balanced on his heels and saw the source of the heat that had been smothering him. Fenrir lay, quite human and naked, apparently undisturbed despite Harry having wriggled out from under him. His breath was low and even with sleep still and it took Harry a moment to realise why they were both beyond the protection of the mountain village. When it flooded back to him, he felt his aching insides tighten with revulsion.

Looking down at himself, he saw his torso, his sides and hips bruised and thighs painted with claw-marks. His insides felt battered and his arse burned. He reached back tentatively to touch his abused ring, nausea flooding through him as he felt a thick layer of dried semen between his cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He remembered then and his wide eyes fixed on Fenrir’s sleeping form. He remembered the beast last night as it took him. He remembered its insatiable hunger but when he recalled his own pleasure and spied a splash of dried come on his belly that was unmistakeably his own, his body jerked forwards and he vomited bile up onto the grass.

 

 What had he become?

 

*                      *                      *

 

 With a long stretch, Fenrir’s body tugged him awake. He rolled onto his back as he opened his eyes and stared up at the slowly clearing morning mist with the sun peaking through. The world was quiet around him and Fenrir inhaled deeply, his body ripe with the scent of him and his mate. A frown creased his brow however, when he sensed that the smell of his mate was not as fresh as it should have been.

 

 Rising quickly, Fenrir glanced around to find himself alone in the glade. Only the smell of Harry’s dried blood and lubrication on his body betrayed the fact that he’d been here at all. Fenrir blinked once, _twice_ as he dragged back the memory of the night before. He’d taken Harry as a wolf and though he remembered smelling arousal, he’d smelt fear as well.

 

 “Shit,” he cursed, stumbling to his feet. If he knew Harry, his reaction to recalling last night would not be good. Inhaling the air, he smelt Harry's scent on a passing breeze. He had gotten quite far while he had slept – he had to find him. No sooner had his muscles bunched to move, however than a handful of bodies crashed into the clearing from downwind.

 

 “Alpha!” Echo declared, Marrok and three others alongside him, all panting heavily, all as naked as the day they were born. “Weylyn, he left the gate open last night – Harry shut it after he followed you to stop the rest of us but we could smell the humans and…” He lost his voice here, staring from Fenrir to the clearing, as if the evidence of what happened last night were visible on the grass. “Alpha, you know what this means for Harry,” he said, his voice low and cautious, filled with apprehension.

 

 Fenrir growled in frustration, his hands clenching into fists. _Just_ as he felt as if he was making ground with Harry. He’d never lost control so spectacularly before, why now? Why with Harry?! He gritted his teeth, grinding them tightly together until his gums throbbed with pain. Harry was his mate, _that_ was why. All the rules didn’t apply. All the usual instincts, every pull of his desires were increased tenfold with him to the point where nothing made sense anymore.

 

 “You smelt him last night, Echo,” Fenrir murmured darkly, “he was terrified and I was too turned on by his display to save the humans to pay any attention to it.” He snarled through clenched teeth. He’d thought he’d had more control over himself than this. He’d told Harry that Harry would be able to refuse him. Under any other circumstances he was sure that was true – but he hadn’t anticipated Harry leading him on to save the humans. Once his passions had been stirred, he’d been unable to beat them back. Harry had sacrificed his own wishes to save the humans. All because of Weylyn.

 

  _I’ll kill him,_ he thought.

 

 “He reeks of loathing and self-disgust right now. It’s as potent as smoke. He didn’t want me to take him as wolf – the idea was repugnant to him!”

 

 Echo glanced to Marrok, seeing the omega’s face furrowed with concern. He had a soft spot for Harry, it was widely known and the large black man inhaled deeply before chancing speech. “Alpha, it’s more serious than that – the significance of your mating with him last night under the light of the full moon…” He licked his dry lips as he met the Fenrir’s eyes. “You can already smell it on his scent. It’s a slight change but it’s there. He’s breeding.”

 

 Fenrir stopped and his head jerked up to the sky where the sun was slowly rising, as if the invisible moon could answer his plight. Harry would be furious – no worse he would…

_“I’ll never want to carry_ anything _of yours inside me…”_

_“I'll kill whatever spawn you put in me the second your back is turned!”_

 

 Oh no.

 

 “I have to get to him. You find Weylyn, I’ll kill the bastard for this,” Fenrir snarled. The image of crunching the traitor’s neck under his fangs chased back his temper a fraction – just enough to give him control again. He could feel the rage emanating from his body like heat from a fire. But he needed to find Harry before he did something unforgiveable.

 

 “Alpha, there are strangers in our forest,” Echo said quickly as if he knew any moment he would take off in the direct of his mate’s misery. “Werewolves not of the pack – _rogues_ , Alpha, and lots of them.”

 

 Fenrir stared at him, sniffing the air, frustrated. He needed to get to Harry, not waste time with these disrespectful mongrels! He had sensed something on the air beyond Harry, right at the very edge of the forest but his focus had been on his mate over anything else. Another thing that only Harry could do; blind him to potential danger. The boy filled his every thought and sensation until there was nothing else left. Was that what being mated was supposed to be like? Or was it just the boy? Did he have some hidden ability to drive those around him mad with the need to care for him?

 

 He didn’t have the time to ponder that now. Harry was downwind of the invaders now but if they caught a whiff of him – an unprotected breeding sub…

 

 “The den will be safe – rogues cannot get in without one of us. Are there others out here with you?” Fenrir asked, his voice brisk and sharp.

 

 Echo nodded. “Six more are close behind, Alpha. When we said that we were heading out to find you both no one wanted to stay behind.” Echo smiled, an oddly soothing expression in the chaos that was rapidly unfolding. “The pack is not short of those who care for you, Alpha, or for Harry. They adore him.” A treasure of the pack, as all those who carried the recessive gene were meant to be – _precious_.

 

 “As they should,” Fenrir grunted, glancing towards the direction he could smell Harry in. Had he already done the unthinkable? He could not smell any blood but…

 

 “Get the other six and head the rogues off if you can. Don’t fight, just occupy them until I can get Harry back to the den. He…he can’t be alone right now,” he muttered, not wanting to betray what he suspected they already knew. His mate would be less than happy if he realised what their mating under the full moon meant. With any luck, he would have forgotten in the rush of events as Fenrir had.

_“I told you, I’d never allow anything of yours to grow inside me.”_

 

 Suddenly, Fenrir felt a cold nudge against his curled fist and glanced down to see Ghost butting his fingers, staring up at him as if asking him where Harry was. “We’ll find him,” Fenrir said, before looking to his second in command once more. “Get the others, keep the intruders busy. I think I know what they want and I don’t want them to see Harry, not so soon after last night.” He didn’t think Harry would be able to bear being swamped with the smell of raging dominant pheromones, especially so soon after the full moon. Emotions were still running high.

 

 Echo nodded once and before he and the others had finished turning to do his bidding, Fenrir had spun on his heel and lurched forward, his body morphing into his wolf’s shape as he ran. Ghost stayed close at his side, keeping up with him as he sped into the trees, following Harry’s distress. Harry was quite a way away, but not yet out of reach of him – there was no danger from the Dark Lord yet.

 

 The wind rushed through his fur. It stung his eyes, carrying great waves of his mate’s suffering to him until he was forced to hold his breath rather than inhale another whiff of it. He couldn’t bear it, it was rendering him into a pathetic mess, a pup who couldn’t see anything else, couldn’t control himself. He never had any control when it came to Harry, he should’ve realised that. What happened between them last night was pleasurable for him, natural to him even, but the fact that it was the one thing that terrified Harry most made bile rise in his throat. He’d hurt his mate, _raped_ his mate, no matter how he looked at it.

 

 He, the most revered werewolf in the country had fallen prey to his own instincts and perhaps ruined everything. He grit his teeth tightly, his fangs biting into his gums and he snarled in fury at himself, at the situation. If Harry had understood, had had chance to accept their ways and _wanted_ what had happened last night, _wanted_ the cub that now grew inside him it would be different. Why couldn’t they be different?

 

  _Why is everything so fucked?!_ He roared as he sped through the trees, approaching downwind so as not to scare off his mate before he even got there. He did not expect Harry's reaction to the sight of him after last night to be anything but bad – he only hoped it was not too late to repair that. He grunted. He _would_ repair it. From the second he’d mated with the boy he’d known he would do anything to win him, utterly, completely. He would fix this mess he’d made by losing control of himself. He only hoped it was in time to save the unborn life growing in the boy’s belly.

 

_“I'll kill whatever spawn you put in me the second your back is turned!”_

 

 The words haunted him as he flew through the forest. He’d mocked the very words originally, but after all that had happened, would Harry really be capable of such a thing? Had he betrayed his mate so badly? His bones themselves ached at the notion. He’d shamed his kind, acted exactly as the rogues he so despised would have acted. Far from filling him with pride as the notion of filling his mate’s belly successfully on the first night _should_ have done, he felt quite sick.

 

 He was no better than the bastards that would have shared Harry around despite his wishes. He was not fit to be alpha, or to have the honour of being mated to one such as Harry. Luckily, he was both stubborn and selfish enough that neither slowed his steps. He would not wallow in pity and shame. He would bite it back with ravenous fangs, he would rise above it and _earn_ his place as alpha, as alpha _mate_ once more. He wouldn’t just roll over and accept defeat and shame like a sad little dog. He had more honour than that, more pride.

 

 Running still, he felt himself growing nearer. Harry was in one place, hadn’t sensed him yet. Ghost had managed to keep up. They were both flying through the trees, towards the sound of rushing water, towards the waterfall he and Harry had visited before. Only this time they were approaching it from the other side, running up hill to the waterfall’s top. Fenrir ran faster as he realised this. It was not a good sign.

 

 Whatever happened, he would do what was necessary by both his pack and his mate; it wasn’t in him to be mawkish or self-pitying. Even when his parents had died it hadn’t. He always dealt with misery and misfortune by clenching his teeth and pushing through, coming out the other side bloodied and wounded but stronger than before.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	11. Enceinte

.: Chapter Eleven :.

Enceinte

 

 

 

 Skidding to a halt at the edge of the trees, Fenrir forced his body back to its mortal shape, knowing Harry would not appreciate the sight of his wolf right now. Slowly edged out into the sunlight. Ghost walked just ahead of him, his ears pricked and his tail wagging at the sight of Harry alive. The young man was standing waist-deep in the pool at the top of the slow-running waterfall, facing outwards across the forest as if he hadn’t noticed their presence.

 

 But Fenrir could _sense_ that Harry knew they were there now, it was visible from the way his body tensed. He was completely naked in the glistening water and the bright golden light of the morning sun illuminated his pale, sun-touched skin. Every bruise and scrape was highlighted, painfully dark against his flesh. Harry’s body was covered with them and the mating mark on his throat was an inflamed pink, stark against the honey-hued column of his throat.

 

 Stepping forward slowly so that he was on the bank, Fenrir waited for Harry to turn. He was lost for what to say to end the ripples of pain and self-loathing that reached out across to him from where Harry stood. He could see the cold bringing Harry's skin up in goosebumps, causing a shiver to run down his body and this was what enabled Fenrir to find his words.

 

 “Ghost, run back to the den and fetch his fur,” he muttered. The visibly anxious wolf offered a final glance to Harry (who had still not turned) before bolting off into the trees to obey his alpha’s command. This left the pair quite alone in the brutal morning breeze. Harry's hair stuck up in all directions, damp to suggest he’d submerged himself in the water earlier, as if to wash Fenrir off of him. It had failed. A claiming that complete went further than the surface of the skin and though Fenrir understood Harry's desire to wash it away, the notion still made his lips curl back with the tiniest of frustrated snarls.

 

 The sound made Harry whirl in the water to face him. His eyes were not those that Fenrir had grown used to in the last few weeks. The warmth and desire had all-but vanished. Fear and uncertainty bloomed there like a fire slowly coaxed to life by breath. Fenrir inhaled deeply to put off the next time he would have to inhale Harry's misery for as long as possible, before chancing speech.

 

 “Pet, last night–”

 

 “ _Don’t_ call me pet, I’m not your pet, not your bitch,” Harry murmured, his voice coarse and heated despite its low volume. It was a warning growl of a bitch who was carrying. Fenrir watched him carefully, at a loss for how he could win back the closeness they had found before last night. He started to move forward, but Harry took a step back in response, towards the lip of the waterfall.

 

 “Harry,” he began again, still moving forward slowly. Coddling, gentleness, comfort were not things he knew how to give. It was foreign  to him. But he had to try. “I never thought that I could hurt you in that form, or else I’d never–”

 

 “You didn’t hurt me,” Harry muttered, avoiding Fenrir’s eyes. “Not really, that’s the problem…” He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought and Fenrir took the opportunity to take a few extra steps closer, the water lapping at his knees now. “I know if I’d outright refused you wouldn’t have… _done that._ I gave you the signs that I…that I wanted it. I know I’ve got no one to blame but myself, alright?” His tone was defensive, but Fenrir had finally spanned the gap between them and he snarled at Harry's words, gripping him by his shoulders and shaking him slightly.

 

 “You did it to stop me from killing those humans. _I’m_ the one who should’ve been able to stop. I was weak but I’ll be stronger and I’ll start by killing the fucker who left the gate open in the first place.” He squeezed Harry's shoulders tightly. “They’re to blame for what happened, they manipulated our instincts – don’t you dare stick yourself with the blame for getting raped!”

 

 The words tasted like poison in his mouth. He’d defiled his own mate. His jaw tensed, his fangs biting into his gums until he tasted blood again. He really could not wait to kill someone and unleash his barely contained fury.

 

 Abruptly, Harry shook off his hands as if they had stung him, glaring at him defiantly. “I wasn’t raped,” he snapped. “You’re my – well you can’t rape me if we’re–”

 

 Fenrir grunted in disgust. “Rape with someone who doesn’t want it is rape, whether they’re mated or not,” he snapped. “Some prick helped me to… They fucked this up and I won’t forgive it.” He ground his teeth together, but the uncertain look on Harry's face still did not dwindle. Fenrir frowned, reaching forward slowly. When Harry flinched away again, Fenrir paused. His hand slid slowly through the air parallel to Harry's torso, as if he were caressing it, coming to rest just above the water that lapped at that flat stomach. The place where his cub was growing.

 

 

 “I’ll fix this, pet, let me fix it.” The uncharacteristic sincerity, the torture in his voice stunned Harry into speechlessness. He stared, his lips slightly parted at the werewolf who stood before him. The severe, brutal, most terrifying beast in the country was towering over him and yet looked… _vulnerable_ somehow. Harry didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how he felt. He took a small, staggering step back and his mouth moved with the beginnings of speech. Before any words left him, Fenrir turned abruptly, facing the trees, an arm stretched out as if to shield Harry from view.

 

 “What is it?” Harry asked, sniffing the air. He couldn’t smell a thing, thanks to the wind carrying from the other direction, but if he stayed perfectly still in the water he could hear something _._ The steps approaching were cautious and calculated but he could hear them, as well as low breathing and eager heartbeats, the latter a fraction of a pace too quick to be human. “Werewolves?” he muttered.

 

 Fenrir gave a short nod. “And not ours. You still have the scent of heat clinging to you from yesterday. Stay back, alright?”

 

 Harry glared up at him, his lips poised to spit out a sharp retort, but once again, his words were lost as the invaders broke the line of the trees. They were here. Instinctively, Harry took a sharp intake of breath and shifted a fraction more behind Fenrir. He didn’t know what it was or what was happening, all he knew for certain was that he had to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. He needed his pack, his alpha to protect him. There were about half a dozen of them that seemed to gather behind two men; one tall and dark-skinned, bulky and bearded like Fenrir, the other sun-kissed with hair as dark as blood. Conall.

 

 They were all watching Harry closely, eyes intense and swimming with thoughts Harry preferred not to dwell on. He kept his eyes subtly averted, focussing on being as small as possible, even though he knew they had _more_ than noticed him. He knew he was subject of their stares and the whispers of the werewolves at the rear of the group. He was the reason that they were here.

 

 There was a long, foreboding silence that stretched between them, until eventually, the dark-skinned man’s coarse, heavy voice broke it. “So it seems that the alpha has endeavoured to mark you, to claim you as much as possible before we had a chance to dispute his claim.” He surveyed Harry with dark eyes, evidently taking in every love bite, every scrape and bruise. His nostrils flared and Harry flushed darkly. He knew that he was inhaling the scent of sex that still clung to him despite his soak in the water.

 

 “You’ve had a long journey for nothing,” Fenrir snarled darkly, his fingers curling tight into a fist.

 

 Harry remained still. He looked from Fenrir to the intruders, listening to them discuss him as if he were property with no choice in this matter at all. Except he knew that it _was_ his choice; Fenrir had told him so at the start. _And I chose Fenrir, whether I was in my right mind or not,_ he thought. _Why are they contesting it if I made the decision?_

 

 “You’re not the one to judge that,” Conall interjected coolly. “And you should know we’re not alone.”

 “Neither is he,” a voice stated from the shadows of the trees, where Echo, Marrok, Ulric and nine others now stepped into view, moving quickly to stand on the pool’s edge, a few feet behind Fenrir. Ghost was among them. Harry gave the interlopers a final glance before wading through the water to him, taking the fur cloak that was draped over Ghost’s back and partly gripped in his mouth. With hostility ripe in the air, he didn’t particularly fancy standing there naked any longer than he had to.

 

 Dignity covered, he turned back to them to find that they had followed his every movement. With a flush, he pulled the cloak tighter around his bare, bruised skin. With some distance between him and the enemy now, he felt his irritation surge above his curious, instinctive need to make himself invisible. “Stop staring at me as if I’m some rare treat you all can’t wait to get your grubby hands on,” he snapped. Something in his throat tightened at the way the dark man beside Conall smiled forebodingly at his words. Harry raised his chin in defiance, glaring at him and his companions with unveiled contempt.

 

 “It seems to me that you all took it upon yourselves to march up here to challenge Fenrir’s right to ‘keep’ me or something,” he snarled, “but I’m not an animal to be kept. I’m not a possession – if I choose to be here it’s not for you to challenge anything!”

 

 Conall laughed brutally. “So your tamed alpha would have you believe. Times have changed, pet – humans have hunted our species to the point where there are but a few packs and rogues scattered throughout the country. There are no longer enough breeding subs to allow you such a luxury as _choice_.”

 

 Fenrir snarled. “The old ways state that the sub chooses and he chose me!” He roared. Harry watched the muscles in Fenrir’s back tense and ripple as if he were verging on transformation. The notion made Harry feel a bit queasy; he wasn’t sure he could face Fenrir the wolf right now.

 

 “The old ways were a extravagance of the past, Greyback,” the black man said, his coarse voice rendering the birds in the trees to silence. He stepped forward slightly and Harry felt everyone around him tense, ready for a fight. This man was dangerous, he could _feel_ it in the way those amber eyes looked on him and it made him shudder with unease.

 

 “There have been fewer and fewer of _his_ kind discovered since the majority were culled all those years ago by the Ministry,” he continued, gesturing to Harry dismissively. “To honour one boy’s wishes for a choice of partner, and yours of monogamy will mean a greater leap towards the extinction of full-blooded born wolves. Those turned are never as strong or live as long as us. But besides that, are we not all entitled to have and raise young of our own rather than resort to stealing others’?”

 

 Harry frowned, his lips parting on the verge of speech, but Echo’s hand on his shoulder stilled him – not only because the first touch of another since last night just felt strange somehow. He swallowed his words at the insistent contact. Echo was warning him to keep quiet, but why with such urgency?

 

 Suddenly the dark man turned to Harry, his dark amber eyes devouring him. “Come closer,” he breathed. Harry scowled. If this bastard was going to challenge him he was not going to lie down and play the good little puppy. He couldn’t deny any longer that he was Fenrir’s sub, his mate and that maybe part of him even wanted that, but he most certainly wasn’t the bitch of every werewolf that decided to seek him out.

 

 Shrugging off Echo’s grip, he stepped forward.

 

 “Harry stay where you are!” Fenrir snapped without facing him. Harry flinched at the roughness of his voice but continued, his chin still turned up slightly in rebellion.

 

 “I’m not afraid of him,” he replied, coming to a halt at Fenrir’s side, his eyes trained ahead of him.

 

 “You say so, sweet one but I can smell the truth,” the dark man murmured, his smile never fading. “I am Radulf and I am sorry we did not cross paths sooner, we could have avoided a situation like this. But we know of your life, Harry Potter, there are few that don’t – even out in the wilderness. You of all people have compassion enough to see, we all deserve children of our own, don’t we? To fill a void that biting another can never fulfil?”

 

 Harry stared at him emotionlessly, despite the inner battle rumbling inside him. _Get back,_ it hissed at him. _Show him your belly, your throat – show them all submission!_ He shook his head as if to free himself of those thoughts, pushing through and beyond the overwhelming desire to bow himself at their feet. “My guardians never loved me like my real parents, but there is another family that has all-but adopted me, the way you adopt others into your packs. They care for me like I’m their own. I don’t think a family has to be made from bonds of blood. But I s’pose I understand your feelings and instincts.”

 

 He felt Fenrir turn his head slightly to stare at him, radiating confusion. Harry did not look away from Radulf and Conall, who seemed to share a look at Harry’s words.

 

 “If you understand, then how can you deny us what you are so willing to provide Greyback?” Radulf asked, as if it were a much simpler matter they were discussing.

 

 Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I said I understood, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you all take turns in using me like some…some litter whore,” he said in disbelief.

 

 “Why not?” Conall demanded, “it’s what you were made for.”

 

 “Bullshit it is,” Fenrir growled venomously, his teeth bared. “He was born to the freedom to choose the mate he wants. Not be passed around every horny mutt to churn out cubs like a machine!”

 

 Radulf made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Of course not, we’re not suggesting he carry a litter for every born werewolf that passes – that would be impossible. We have spent the last few weeks wisely, Greyback.”

 

 Fenrir shifted his body to stand between Harry and them a little more effectively. But Harry could still see them and he didn’t think Fenrir’s dominance display was going to scare them away this time, not like it had back when they’d run into Conall and his band of outcasts in the forest.

 

 “What do you mean?” Fenrir asked dangerously.

 

 Conall spoke this time, seemingly smug about his answer. “Of course when you killed my brother for trying to have his turn with the sub I felt it my duty to pay a visit to every pack and settlement of rogues known to us. The strongest, the best of each battled for their chance to come here today and here we are. We fought to prove our worth, to narrow down the sub’s list of suitors–”

 

 “Harry, my name is Harry not _breeder_ or _sub._ Do you seriously think you’ve been _considerate?_ You’re still assuming I’m willing to be fucked and impregnated by the lot of you!” Harry declared indignantly, staring at them all in shock. And he’d thought the wizarding and muggle worlds were full of bigots and power-hungry control-freaks.

 

 Conall tilted his head slightly to look him up and down before dignifying his outburst with a response. “You don’t have a choice. We’ve been generous enough with you and we’re willing to overlook Greyback’s transgressions if you all comply.”

 

 “What _‘transgressions’_ you stinking whippet?” Fenrir spat ferociously. “He’s my mate, _mine_ and _you_ all think you have the authority to share him around?!” He was thunderous and Harry felt something in his stomach churn at the feel of his mate’s anger rushing through him. He felt light-headed and the need to make himself small and invisible swelled again.

 

 “That is precisely it,” Radulf said coolly. “You claim that he chose you, yet I hear you made sure to keep him hidden away until it was too late for anyone to challenge that claim, to compete with it. If given a fair chance, Harry here might have chosen any of us.” His golden gaze lingered on Harry again, alight with sinful fire that made Harry feel quite ill, even dizzier than before.

 

 “Like hell,” he grumbled, trying to keep a hold of what dignity he had left and his balance at the same time. “I’d never bind myself to anyone who treats me like what I want doesn’t matter.”

 

 “We’re not wishing to mate with him,” Radulf continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken at all, looking back to Fenrir once more. “Only to have the opportunity that all of us want with every fibre of our being. A litter for each of us here, the best of us and then you can keep him all to yourself.”

 

 “Fuck you!” Harry roared, his own fury coursing through him now, driving him forward. It pulsed like lava, like a thousand angry wasps in his veins until he was standing in front of Conall, Radulf and the others, visibly seething. He ignored the cries from his pack mates and glared hotly at the werewolves before him. He wasn’t afraid now, only angry – unbelievably angry at the insult of their very purpose here.

 

 “It’ll be a bloody cold day in hell before I roll over and present my arse to any of you – to _anyone_ besides who I choose. I’m not a whore and I’m not a prize bitch to churn out _litters_ with the best studs that stroll by to suit you all. I don’t care if your entire _species_ dies out. I don’t care if you offer me the universe! I’m not a body to be sold or even threatened into compliance. I won’t give you what you want so _leave_!”

 

 An elongated moment of tense silence stretched out towards infinity. The forest was deathly quite behind them; the only sound Harry could make out was the ever-flowing waterfall and his own anger thudding furiously in his ears in time with his pulse. How dare they? How could they think this was acceptable? Just because he was probably the only known _breeder_ in the country, because of what wizards had done out of fear all those years ago?

 

  _Sins of the father,_ he thought distantly as he stood there, waiting for anyone to speak or move, to break the stillness they had fallen into. His ancestors, his species had desecrated theirs, had killed hundreds of breeding subs and now he was paying the price. Why was he the only one that saw that werewolves, vampires, giants, wizards, and muggles, all of them were all the bloody same as each other? Each just as capable of violence and cruelty as the other.

 

 Suddenly, Conall reached out, his arm flying forwards with the force and speed of a whiplash. He wrapped his fingers around Harry’s throat, drawing him forwards. Harry choked, his hands shooting up to claw at Conall’s fingers. The man’s nose was scant centimetres from his own and the proximity, the smell of his lust made Harry’s instincts soar up and seize control of him again.

 

 Harry turned his head to the side limply. He let it fall, let his entire body go limp in that grasp so that he would have slumped on the floor if Conall released him. Behind him he could hear Fenrir snarling, hear his pack moving forward but he couldn’t _see_ anything beyond the threat in front of him and he whined slowly, deep in his throat. He had to survive, he had to escape – he had to be submissive to do both of those. He had to live.

 

  _Why again was that?_

 

 “See how contrite a real male can make you?” Conall panted, grinning darkly and inhaling Harry’s fear hungrily. It made his arousal spike and Harry whined again, louder this time when Conall’s other unoccupied hand, reached out to slip between the folds of Harry’s fur cloak. Long claws scraped over his churning stomach – _just_ hard enough to bring four fresh lines of blood from shallow cuts. “If you comply we’ll let you keep the cub you carry, let you bear Greyback his mongrel before we take our turns.”

 

 Harry’s eyes widened.

 

 Conall chuckled, leaning in closer still. “These things are so delicate, easily terminated – you should be careful if you want to keep it–”

 

 “ _It_?” Harry repeated, his voice a choked gasp. A whisper of horror and disbelief. The entire world stopped, halting in time and space before veering into slow motion at Conall’s low, cruel laugh.

 

 “Poor little one, didn’t your pet alpha tell you? He’s filled your belly up nicely in such a short amount of time,” the auburn haired man panted.

 

 Harry’s entire body tensed as he recalled the horrors of last night, not for the first time since he had awoken but with new eyes now, seeing it for what it meant at last. He screamed, lashing out with every ounce of strength in him, slamming his fist hard into Conall’s throat. The wolf spluttered, releasing him instinctually. Harry staggered back, panting for breath and rubbing unconsciously at his neck where finger-shaped marks burned angrily into his skin.

 

 “Liar!” Harry screamed. “You fucking liar!” His eyes shot briefly to Fenrir, but did not linger there for long. He glared at Conall as the wolf chuckled again, the sound ragged and hoarse from the blow to his throat.

 

 “Ask one of Greyback’s lap dogs if you won’t believe the truth from my lips, but I can smell that you’re carrying from here!” Conall rounded on Fenrir then, his jaw set with anger, lust and animal frustration all at once. “And we can’t promise whatever is inside him won’t be a casualty if you force us to fight for what is rightfully ours.”

 

 “You’ve got no rights at all, none of you, not to my mate,” Fenrir growled darkly. He shot forwards so that he was between them and Harry again, who remained frozen and breathing heavily, not looking at anyone now.

 

 Radulf eyed him carefully. “We will tear your little pack to shreds if need be, Greyback, ruin everything your parents and you have worked so hard to protect.” He paused as if for dramatic effect and the ominous look in his eyes left nothing to the imagination. “We will kill every last one of them. This will be much easier on everyone if you just comply.

 

 Harry glanced up at Fenrir’s back from beneath his fringe. He knew Fenrir’s possessiveness well enough to trust that he wouldn’t give him over, but still a part of him twisted inside at the thought that really, despite what he himself wanted, Fenrir was the only thing standing between him and the enemy. He had to rely on Fenrir to look after him and he didn’t like it – loathed the idea, especially after last night.

 

 “The boy will be happy to protect the pack, Alpha,” Ulric said, speaking for the first time since he had stepped into the clearing with the others. The contempt in his voice was poorly concealed. “Let him give them a litter each and we can all walk away from this–”

 

 “Don’t make me remind you of your place,” Greyback snarled, “if you challenge me again you’ll be out on your arse with the rest of these savages.” He focused on the interlopers again for the final time. “I’ll fight you and I’ll kill _you all_ , make no mistake. He’s ours and you’re not taking him anywhere.” At this, Marrok shifted forwards a fraction and the large black man wrapped his fingers slowly, subtly around Harry’s wrist.

 

 Harry flinched at only the second touch of another person since last night, but on seeing the anxious look in the man’s eyes, he allowed himself to be urged back slowly to stand between him and Echo. Marrok’s hand never left his arm. In any other situation Harry might have flushed, remembering Echo and Fenrir joking about Marrok being sweet on him in a boyish crush sort of way. But his mind was not able to consider light-hearted matters at the moment.

 

“Get off my territory,” Fenrir added darkly, “while you still have legs to carry you.”

 

 “Rumour has it that your new mate has made you go soft, Greyback,” Radulf added airily, as if Fenrir hadn’t spoken. “Perhaps your bark has grown worse than your bite?”

 

 “Get out of my territory now or you’ll find out first hand,” Fenrir snarled, every hair on his arms and chest standing on end, his knuckles cracking threateningly as the wolf swelled within, about to break the surface. He and Radulf held each other’s gazes for a long moment before Fenrir smirked indifferently. “Conall has rounded you all up and used your instincts against you to make you fight his battle, you’re all just too stupid to see it. I just hope you’re not stupid enough to die for it.

 

 Then it happened.

 

 With a roar Radulf threw himself into the air his clothes and skin tearing, fur erupting from his growing limbs. He landed a jet-black wolf on all fours, baring his teeth with a great snarl before bolting towards Fenrir. It was the signal they’d all been waiting for.

 

 Harry felt an almost unbearable tugging in his skin, a bone deep ache as everybody around him changed at once. They flew forwards, morphing into grizzly canines that launched into a frenzied battle of teeth, fur and claws – the enemy against his pack. The sight of Fenrir’s glossy silver fur made his entire body seize up and he blanched, stumbling back a few steps, straight into a tundra wolf with black fur mottled by a dusting of dark brown across his face and belly.

 

 Marrok’s dark eyes looked down at him from that face and Harry stilled, uncertain. The great wolf bent his neck until his head was level with Harry’s, no longer towering over him and turned to show his throat. Submission, it was such an odd sight after last night and in the midst of all this chaos but it made Harry’s anxiety lessen a fraction. He didn’t want Harry to be afraid of him, it seemed, for this was his last assurance, accented by a small wag of his tail before he moved himself in front of Harry – he and Ghost silently volunteering as protectors as the war waged around them.

 

 Fenrir gave a great bellowing roar, throwing his weight into Radulf and sending him sprawling across the ground. The enemy lunged, his jaws snapping shut around thin air where Fenrir’s throat had been a moment before. At the same time Echo threw a red wolf into the dirt, his fangs vanishing into his throat with a sickening burst of blood.

 

 The metallic tang on the air made Harry’s stomach lurch forebodingly. Was it really true? Was there really a life inside of him? Was that why he felt so…hypersensitive, so desperate not to be seen? It was impossible. It couldn’t be true – it just _couldn’t_! His innards clenched at the sound of cracking bones and cartilage, at the sound of his pack mates (who he’d grown so close to in the last few weeks) fighting for him. That thought was almost enough to distract him from the thought most potent in his mind – almost. What was he going to do about whatever was inside him?

 

 Suddenly a sharp snarl ripped him back to the present. He jumped as he saw a grey wolf bolting towards him. Marrok growled, charging in to meet him, the force of their collision sending them both barrelling backwards in a tangle of fangs and talons. Harry dodged another pair locked in battle and winced as a painful cry tore from Marrok’s throat. He grit his teeth, leaping over a bloodied corpse that Echo had left on the ground and making a beeline for where Marrok was entwined with his assailant.

 

 A great auburn coloured body slammed into Harry, knocking him back onto his arse and the wind from his lungs. He scrambled instinctively to his feet only to be shoved down again by a large paw. The appendage pressed him hard into the dirt, digging into his chest until he swore he felt his lungs begin to compress. With a final sharp, desperate gasp for air, he felt a jerk of electricity rush through him. Staring into the dark, hungry eyes above, he heard his instincts roaring in his ears with all of the ferocity of a banshee’s cry. 

 

 It was evident from how crazy everyone was acting, how crazy _he_ was acting that Fenrir had put something inside him last night. As that muzzle lowered, nuzzling into the unmarked side of his neck he realised that whatever it was, however it came to be there, it was a _life_. One that couldn’t defend itself. It was up to him to protect it, wasn’t it? His instincts were like an inferno roiling inside, crashing against his insides in thick waves to get out. He’d always felt the need to protect and help others but this wasn’t the same. It was bone-deep and so powerful that it made his head swim. Whatever he felt about it he had to defend it, even if he was torn to shreds in the process.

 

 That massive paw shifted down slightly to make room for the wolf’s invasive tongue to lap at his clavicle, but as it began to press down on his stomach, Harry’s body flew upwards. His hands shot up, crashing so hard into the wolf’s throat that it gave a choked cry, skidding back across the dirt into the battle of bodies.

 

 Harry rolled up onto all fours. Balanced on the balls of his feet he scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. He had to protect his young, whatever he felt about it; they were already alive and depending on him – just like the rest of the world, except more helpless and more fragile… _Precious._

An animalistic screech ripped from his lips and he charged towards the crimson-haired wolf that snapped at Marrok’s face, narrowly missing him. Conall leapt back in shock as Harry slammed his fist into his side. Yipping in pain, he rounded on Harry with vengeance.

 

 As he turned, Harry was balanced on his feet again, his hands supporting him in the dirt before him. His lips were drawn back over his teeth in an animalistic snarl, but when his hands flew up, palms out, the dazzling blue light that bolted from them was very human magic. Wizard magic. An unmistakeable knock-back jinx sent Conall skidding into the pool with a force that made the water spill out onto the bank with an almighty crash.

 

 At that moment, as Harry rose to his feet and made to pursue his attack, a roar of agony cut through the air. He whirled on his feet, the movement driven by instinct and by an ethereal ghost of pain across his ribs. He saw Fenrir staggering back, his great silver coat stained with crimson blood down one side, where Radulf’s talons had torn open one of the few tender places left from the attack of the griffins.

 

 With pride Harry watched his alpha gather himself quickly, but as Fenrir turned another wolf crashed into his injured side, the both of them rolling across the ground. It happened in but a few, fleeting seconds that flashed by Harry’s eyes in slow motion. Fenrir snarled and gnashed his teeth, kicking the wolf off him with his back legs, but as he rolled back to his feet, Radulf was there, lunging for his throat.

 

 The sound that flew from Harry’s mouth was an inhuman, desperate cry that shook his every limb. It had no coherency, it clawed at his throat like a beast in pain and he froze as a clearer, but no less potent voice screamed inside his mind.

 

 “ _Confringo_!” Harry cried, his voice a booming, echoing explosion that tore across the battlefield and blasted Radulf into the air. Flame, fur, earth and bright light erupted together in an inferno that stopped everyone dead in their tracks. Harry was rattled from his frantic trance by the ground lurching beneath his feet from the blast. He blinked and suddenly he was thrown black, the world obscured by heavy, protective heat.

 

 Harry grunted, the firm furred body wrapping tight around him and taking the brunt of the fall. They rolled and his head slammed hard into the unforgiving ground. He winced and the body above him tensed, lifting itself slowly. On opening his eyes, Harry watched the blood-splattered silver wolf warp disturbingly into Fenrir again, propped up on all fours over him and panting hard.

 

 Blood oozed from a deep gash across the length of his face and dripped down onto Harry, who winced at the throbbing in his head and flinched at Fenrir’s proximity all at once. Instinctively he rolled his head to the side to expose his throat but instead of laying flat and exposing his belly as he usually would, he drew his knees up to offer it some sort of protection. It was depending on him after all.

 

 A coarse thumb and forefinger gripped his chin, turning his head up so that Fenrir could look at him properly. Fenrir sniffed at him tentatively. “You’re hurt,” he murmured gruffly, apparently oblivious to the fact that everyone else around them were recovering themselves. His azure eyes were dark, his skin hot and painted with battle wounds – bare as the day he was born.

 

 “Get off me,” Harry gasped, shoving hard at Fenrir’s chest as he came back to himself and the unease he felt at being trapped under Fenrir’s body again so soon. Fenrir grunted, his wounds aggravated by the hasty movement as he rose to his feet. “Is it ok?” Fenrir muttered, referring to Harry’s stomach and holding his hand out to help Harry up at the same time.

 

 Harry ignored the proffered hand and pushed himself up to his feet, wincing again at the throbbing at the back of his head. He felt a little bit dizzy and bruised but otherwise unharmed; he didn’t even think there was blood. “How am I meant to know?” he replied shortly, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. Then, over Fenrir’s shoulder, he caught sight of Radulf’s body.

 

 The humanoid body was splayed out at a grotesque angle; smoke actually rising from the tangle of limbs. Harry’s eyes were wide with shock and horror both as the man slowly staggered upwards, his dark skin blistered and marred, his expression livid. “I’ll kill you – I’ll KILL YOU!” he roared, staggering towards them, blood trailing across the ground with every step. “No undisciplined runt of a sub is going to defy me, just because his mate is too lovestruck to teach him his place,” he spat.

 

 Harry bit back the urge to make himself small and invisible again, clenching his teeth hard around the instinctual reaction and standing firm at Fenrir’s side.

 

 “I’ll rip that feeble seedling from your belly and then I’ll pound your little arse into the ground until you realise that’s your place!” Radulf crowed, his voice cracked with blood and pain. He dove forwards, reaching for Harry’s throat. Fenrir gave an almighty snarl and seized his wrist, twisting him round until he had a firm grip on the man’s neck. There was a grunt from Fenrir, a sickening crack and then Radulf fell to the ground, perfectly still at Fenrir’s feet.

 

 Harry took a few hesitant steps back, both out of shock at the sudden execution and of discomfort at having their enemy so close to him – dead or not. He backed into a hard body and whirled on the spot to find a scuffed up Marrok behind him. The dark-skinned man gave him an awkward yet reassuring smile. “Are you alright?” he asked and Harry nodded slowly, not really sure if he was lying or not. _Was_ he ok?

 

 There was a long pause in the clearing, during which the assailants seemed to retreat back to the boundary of trees where they had emerged from, all watching them cautiously. Conall scowled loathingly at them all, his menacing eyes lingering over Harry for far too long. “We aren’t alone, Greyback,” he warned darkly, “together we all bring far more warriors to the fray than your little band of whelps. “We _will_ have what is rightfully ours.”

 

 Conall glanced down at the fallen man by Fenrir’s feet in revulsion. “Radulf was the one that wanted to try and reason with you, but since you have chosen the difficult path…” He paused purposefully, his gaze washing over Harry’s body, covetous and hateful all at once. “You’ll be seeing us again and next time there will be no mercy.”

 

 A few of Fenrir’s pack (still wearing their wolf appearances) snarled, bolting forwards and driving them from the clearing, deep into the forest. “Drive them out of our territory,” Fenrir said slowly to Echo, who still stood as a wolf beside him. The compact beast gave a slow nod of understanding, before flying after the others, leaving a mere handful of them remaining at the peak of the waterfall.

 

 

 “Ulric, Raquelle, get rid of this scum,” Fenrir growled with a gesture to Radulf’s corpse, his voice low and rasping, as if he were barely keeping the rage from breaking the surface. It burned like bile rising up his throat. He wanted to pursue them, to catch them and tear their limbs away until they were useless, bloody stumps sprawled across the dirt. Something about the mere _thought_ of leaving Harry’s side right now just felt wrong though. He knew it was his instincts, knew he would feel this way even long after the birth, but even _knowing_ that, he couldn’t fight it.

 

 Ulric grumbled in irritation, even as he and the female wolf, the dark-haired Raquelle moved to obey. “You’re going to start a bloody war,” he muttered, seizing the corpse’s arms while Raquelle picked up the legs. “You’re going to get us all massacred for the sake of sharing out your sub’s arse a little…”

 

 Fenrir growled furiously, seizing Ulric’s neck and squeezing hard until the older man’s face was suffused with a warning blue tinge. “You’ve forgotten what our pack stands for and you’ve long forgotten who’s in charge here, old man,” he whispered warningly. “If you want to challenge my role, challenge me like a wolf or keep your mouth shut, I won’t tell you again. One more fuck-up and you’ll be out on your arse, is that clear?”

 

 When Ulric nodded, Fenrir squeezed just that fraction harder before releasing him and turning to where Harry, Marrok and Ghost stood, effectively dismissing the other two to continue with their instructions. His body was still rigid, stiff with barely controlled rage and wretchedness but his eyes were warm as they caressed Harry’s face. A face that was far paler than usual.

 

 “You need some food in that belly of yours,” he said when he was sure the bite had left his voice. He felt like he didn’t know how to talk to Harry at that moment. He knew only that he had to fulfil the promise he had made under the moon to provide and protect. “I notice you vomited up any food you had left in you this morning–”

 

 “That was out of disgust not illness,” Harry muttered, glaring at him defiantly despite the smell of anxiety Fenrir sensed rolling off of him in pungent waves. It brought a bad taste to his mouth.

 

 “I didn’t _want_ last night to happen,” Fenrir began, only to have Harry cut across him sharply.

 

 “Bollocks. You got exactly what you wanted last night.”

 

 Fenrir sneered. “You think I _enjoyed_ raping you?” he growled darkly. “After everything that’s happened, you think I wanted this with anything less than your full consent?” The ungrateful little whelp.

 

 Harry stared back at him. “All you’ve talked about since this all started is getting me up the duff, don’t pretend you’re anything less than bloody ecstatic,” he grumbled.

 

 Fenrir started towards him then, the movement making Marrok step back out of respect instinctively. The alpha seized Harry’s wrist to draw him closer when the boy made to recoil. “I’m pleased in that I made life with you, that part of me grows inside of you,” the wolf began, his coarse voice negating any of the softness of his words. “But I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

 

 Harry flushed darkly at his words. “I never wanted this at all. I didn’t want to get…to have… _this_ and you can’t expect me to be ok with it,” Harry began roughly.

 

 “Bullshit. The fact you’ve yearned for a home and family of your own, a true family is the main reason you chose me,” Fenrir retorted hotly, “don’t deny it.”

 

 “But I can’t stay here, I’ve told you that and I never wanted to be… _emasculated_ by being forced into… _giving birth._ I didn’t want it this way!” Harry winced – probably at the distinct sound of desperation in his voice. His hands curled into such tight fists that his knuckles grew white. “It wasn’t entirely your fault, but you’re acting like we’re this loving couple who’ve conceived this miracle child or something!”

 

 With a growl of displeasure and his scent spiking with telltale hurt, Fenrir threw Harry’s wrist away from him. “All born werewolves are miracles that defy our very nature,” he snarled, “I wanted you, I wanted this but not this way. Are you telling me that you want to get rid of the life inside you just because that prick Weylyn left the bloody gate open?”

 

 “I don’t know what I want!” Harry roared. “All I know is I don’t want to look at you right now.” With that he turned to look at Marrok, who was watching their exchange carefully. “Will you take me back to the den? I want to be on my own for a while where I won’t be ravaged or attacked.” Harry’s voice was flat and curt, but riding below that was the sound of utter exhaustion and defeat.

 

 Marrok gave the most fleeting of cautionary glances to Fenrir before nodding slowly. “Of course,” he said, his deep voice soft and smooth, filled with concern. He took a step to the side to let Harry set the pace back towards the safety of the den along with Ghost. It took some time before Fenrir calmed his temper enough to follow them without the risk of tearing something to shreds.

 

 By the time he’d cooled his anger enough to let himself catch up with them, they were already in the caves, heading towards the gates. He could hear Ulric and Raquelle not too far behind. Further than that, back in the forest, he could also sense Echo and the others returning from seeing their enemy off of their territory – all together and in one piece, thankfully. They would not be so lucky next time.

 

 Fenrir grit his teeth as they neared the gates. He wasn’t afraid of Conall nor any of the others. He could easily defeat any of them in a battle to be alpha – or a battle for Harry that matter. But they weren’t looking for a battle for position or mating rights, they were looking for a massacre. The pack was safe for now, but he knew that whether by Voldemort’s hand or by these new usurpers of the old ways, their peaceful lives would change – and soon. His job was to get as many of his pack through this alive and safe, but he feared he was more preoccupied with Harry than he’d first thought.

 

 Today, up at the waterfall’s peak _he_ should have been the one to chase off the enemy. No, he should have quashed them, ripped out their gullets as a warning to any one else who would dare try the same. But the thought of leaving Harry's side had made him almost nauseated. He knew that was because of the infant now growing in his belly, and the fact that Harry was sensitive to any threat now – physically. If he thought he’d been abandoned or felt overly threatened he could miscarry. That thought made him nauseated as well.

 

 He was dragged back to the present by the sight and sound of the gates slowly unwinding and unlocking. They slid open under Marrok’s touch and Harry was the first to move inside. The moment he did, Fenrir felt relief so profound sweep through him from Harry's direction that it stilled him on the threshold for a moment. That was, until he saw Weylyn being watched by Amoux and a few of the others near the wash pool. His blood began to boil again.

 

 “Marrok, fetch some food for Harry,” he began, eyeing the traitor venomously. “I need to– _Harry_!”

 

 Harry had flown from their side with unnatural speed, bolting across the grass and slamming hard straight into Weylyn. With a feral, disembodied snarl, Harry threw him to the ground where he pounced. Weylyn cried out, everyone nearby screaming and flying back on impulse. Harry was an alpha too and instinct told them to get out of his warpath. Harry’s fingers curled like hungry talons as they dug into Weylyn’s flesh, seizing his throat with a rasping growl and shoving his head beneath the water of the pool.

 

 Weylyn’s body scrambled and writhed in his grasp, struggling for freedom but the tendons in Harry’s arms and wrists tensed and he gripped him tighter. He lifted his head a fraction to permit him air before plunging him back under the water’s surface again, utter unrestrained fury on his face. He looked like a man possessed, an animal lost to his instincts. But Fenrir knew he was very much in control of himself right now and feeling very human emotions. Fear, panic and rage; all unleashing themselves at once.

 

 “It’s all your fault!” Harry screamed, bringing the choking, spluttering man up to hear him, shaking him with every word. Fenrir could see those green eyes glowing unnaturally bright as he glared down at the man at his mercy. “You brought this on us – on _me_! I never wanted this! You caused this! I’ll fucking kill you!” He shoved Weylyn under again, only to have Fenrir seize him by the arms and drag him bodily from his victim.

 

 “Get off me Greyback – I want to rip his bloody throat out!” Harry snapped, writhing like a serpent out of Fenrir’s arms. He whirled in Fenrir’s grasp, striking him so hard across the face that his arm ached, the reverberations from the blow shuddering through his body. Everything fell silent. Harry just stood there breathing hard, struggling for air through his fury while Fenrir stared down at him, his face flushing red from the blow. Everyone was watching them. Weylyn had not dared to move.

 

 The silence was ringing uncomfortably throughout the entire valley by the time Fenrir moved. His eyes stayed with Harry for as long as possible as he walked towards Weylyn’s still spluttering form, until he was forced to look down at the traitor. “Why did you do it?” he demanded, his voice low but still somehow booming and threatening. At his feet Weylyn shuddered, but didn’t dare _not_ answer.

 

 “I’m sorry, Alpha–”

 

 “–Sorry you got found out!” Fenrir cut across him. “ _Why_ did you do it?” When Weylyn merely flinched Fenrir dove for him, dragging him up by his throat until he dangled a foot from the ground. “TELL ME!”

 

 “I just thought that mutt Conall had a point!” Weylyn gasped, all of the words tumbling out so quickly that one was barely distinguishable from the other. It was as if he hoped the quicker he admitted it, the quicker he would be done with his punishment. No such luck. “I overheard when you told Echo what was said when he encountered you before – the whole pack knows but I’m the only one who realises there’s some truth to what that rogue says!”

 

 Fenrir dropped him to the ground. The wolf struggled to his feet, backing away from Fenrir as he continued hastily trying to explain himself – only digging himself a bigger hole in the process. “We all deserve what you now have,” Weylyn said, glancing briefly to Harry, who was just watching events unfold motionlessly. “I knew he wouldn’t submit to the act of conception on his own so I just…” he paused and then spat out the rest of his justification all in one breath. “He was born to breed for us, I thought if he conceived he’d realise that and consider our request.”

 

 Everyone backed up away from the two as every minute hair on Fenrir’s body stood on end. “ _Our_ request?” he growled darkly. “You – you and Conall and the rest of those mongrels? You betrayed me and your Alpha Numero for your own selfishness and a few broody mutts?!” His entire body shook with rage. He knew he’d given him too many second chances. But no more.

 

 Still wearing his human form, Fenrir dived for his prey, his teeth and nails scraping deep, unforgiving gouges into that traitorous flesh. Weylyn screamed. Fenrir roared with fury. A chunk of flesh broke off in his mouth, tearing from the defector’s neck and splashing crimson blood across them both and the ground. One of those frantically scrambling legs was snapped sickeningly, the sound of fracturing bone followed by the most piteous whine Harry had ever heard – inhuman with pain.

 

 At last Fenrir leant back on his haunches. Weylyn rolled over onto his back, a wolf now with fur splattered with blood and deep, gory wounds. His head dropped in pathetic submission and apology while his fractured back leg splayed out at an odd angle.

 

 

 Watching in silence, Harry noted that the children had been shooed away from the fight just as it had begun by Amoux and Accalia, who now returned to his side as if for support. It didn’t help to ease his suffering any, though he did appreciate the gesture.

 

 Spitting at the form of the submitting turncoat, Fenrir rose to his feet. His hard pectorals and face were painted crimson and his eyes were wild as he spoke gruffly, unforgivingly. “You disgust me, lowest of the lowest scum of this earth and I banish you from our pack. Go and live with the mongrels you side with. Go and rot for all I care but don’t let me catch your face in our territory again.” There wasn’t a sound from the onlookers, but Fenrir jerked his head up regardless, looking at them each in turn.

 

 “Does anyone contest my decision?” he demanded, Weylyn’s blood flying from his lips as he spoke. The decision was unanimous, from what Harry saw and _felt_ from those standing around the scene. But he’d lived with them for a month now and he knew how important the pack was and how seriously a betrayal like this was taken.

 

 “We have no room in this pack for back-stabbers in times like these,” Echo murmured, breaking the silence with his serious tone. There were a few murmurs of agreement. Briefly, Fenrir locked eyes with Harry, as if searching for his opinion, but Harry gave none, still stunned to silence by the blow he himself had given Fenrir.

 

 “I’ll see that he follows the rest of the rubbish out,” Echo said then, with a look in his eyes that somehow Harry _knew_ meant _‘so you can stay with Harry’_. Harry wasn’t sure he liked that, but he said nothing regardless. He lingered only to watch a few moments of Weylyn’s pitiful whines for forgiveness, before turning away. He couldn’t be around people at the moment; he needed to process all that had happened since last night before his mind exploded with everything it was trying to cope with.

 

 He’d have a bath – that was it. He would soak until his mind was muggy with the steam and with any luck he would pass out under the water and never wake up again.

 

 By the time he realised that he really could not hide in the bath any longer, his skin was a ripe shade of pink all over, his head was quite giddy from the steam and his fingers and toes were pruned. With a sigh, he tipped his head back so that it rested on the edge of the sunken pool and stared up at the glistening ceiling carved from that mysterious stone.

 

 There was so much going on, so many dangers and tasks he needed to complete, Voldemort, Horcruxes, the rogue wolves, but it all seemed overshadowed by that one very personal problem that he had refused to think about since the moment he’d stepped back into the safety of his den. There was a child inside of him – what the fuck was he meant to do about that?

 

 He blinked hard up at the ceiling, as if staring at it long enough would reveal the answer. He’d only found out that this was possible a month ago, among all the rest of the chaos that had erupted the moment he’d woken up Fenrir Greyback’s prisoner instead of Voldemort’s. The idea had been degrading, sickening even and he remembered distinctly swearing he’d rather die than carry anything of Fenrir’s inside of him. Except he’d been ‘Greyback’ back then, not ‘Fenrir’ and a lot had happened. So much had changed…

 

 It was still degrading, made him feel revolted to remember how it had happened (and that his body had climaxed from it). It hurt to think his very male body had been emasculated somehow by being forced to do something he had (until recently) thought was a woman’s task only. It was humiliating even contemplating what had happened to him but at the same time he knew he had to protect whatever was growing inside. He _had_ to and it wasn’t entirely down to his ‘saving people thing’ or his instincts to protect.

 

 He cared about all life, which was the main reason he had become known for disarming rather than going for the kill in battle. And that included whatever living repercussion now grew inside him after last night. He couldn’t say he loved it but he cared if it lived or died, no matter how desperately unhappy he was with the situation. With a long-suffering sigh, he glanced down at his body. It was scuffed from the tussle last night and fight this morning, but looked otherwise unchanged.

 

 Slowly, his hands drifted down his torso with hesitation, hovering over his stomach for a moment before he finally got the nerve to touch. His fingers moulded to his flat belly, taut with lean muscle and his brow furrowed. He didn’t truly understand how or why it had to happen to him, but there was life growing beneath his hands. He felt weird, awkward just touching his own stomach now.

 

 Now what was to become of the future planned out for him, set by the mistakes of wizards more than twice his? He had horcruxes to hunt, a dark lord to conquer but how could he do that now?He closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning in dizziness brought on by a mixture of stress and steam. What the fuck was he going to do?

_“I’ll help you finish him,”_ he remembered Fenrir murmuring against his throat. _“I’ll wipe him off the face of the earth… Lupa and Hemming are looking for your little friends. They’ll help them. We’ll be able to move more freely and do more once He is convinced you’re nothing to worry about but until then… Stay with me…”_

 

 Those words were still true, but he felt a sense of renewed urgency now. Time was limited until he would be physically hampered by this… _condition_ that had been thrust on him. Or would this condition only accelerate the process of Voldemort believing him well and truly broken? He would see him on his knees as a sex slave and breeding vessel to Fenrir Greyback. He would surely think Harry defeated, would enjoy it even. Would it work? Once he could move more freely, he could maybe even join up with Ron and Hermione again and finish this once and for all.

 

 He winced as he slid out of the water at last, his bruises and scrapes no longer throbbing, soothed by the perpetually clean, warm water. It wasn’t all as simple as it sounded though. It all depended largely on Fenrir’s cooperation of course. Whether he cared to admit it or not, Harry needed him, in more ways than one. He wasn’t sure what Fenrir’s views on this plan would be after he’d outright punched him, disrespected him in front of the pack. He wouldn’t have to wait long to find out though, he thought as the sound of the door to the den opening signalled Fenrir’s arrival.

 

 Harry swore he heard Fenrir sniffing subtly, as if assuring himself that Harry was in here. Beside the pool, Ghost pricked his ears, evidently having heard him too and a moment later, Fenrir’s tired, still blood-covered form appeared in the archway to the main part of the den. His eyes were unreadable as he observed Harry. Silence stretched between them while they both tried to find the right words. The few hours they’d been separated seemed to have made the awkwardness worse. There was so much to discuss and yet neither of them wanted to make the first move.

 

 “You alright?” Fenrir murmured eventually, his rough voice betraying nothing. Harry shrugged. The answer was no, of course but then Fenrir had known that before he’d even asked. Feeling uncomfortable with the werewolf watching him sans clothes, he turned and pulled an oversized towel around him, drying himself while revealing as little of his flesh as possible.

 

 “Weylyn is gone and the pack are… Well, they’re unsettled that they were betrayed by one of our own but I think they’re all the better with the scum filtered out,” he said, unwittingly answering Harry’s unasked question; where Fenrir had been for the last couple of hours. He’d been tending to the repercussions Weylyn’s treachery had unleashed on the pack. It wasn’t just that it was done to plot against him, Harry, the whole pack had been in danger last night when the gates were open. He supposed in the pack’s eyes, a lot worse could’ve happened than him getting impregnated by the alpha, which they probably thought was the most wonderful thing in the world anyway.

 

 Harry winced at that, hating how bitter the voice of his thoughts sounded. “Do they know?” he asked, without really caring about the answer.

 

 Those cool blue eyes surveyed him carefully before a reply sounded. “They could smell it. They know,” Fenrir replied, stepping further into the room. His body still bore the wounds from earlier and Harry could not help but stare at them. Fenrir however, didn’t seem to notice. “Amoux would like to speak with you when you’re ready. She was taught the secrets of midwifery by the woman who delivered me and my siblings. She should know everything you need to know.”

 

 Harry closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers gripping the towel around him so tightly he felt his knuckles begin to quiver. “And what if I don’t want to know?” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but before Fenrir could answer, he spoke again. “I s’pose they’re all euphoric with… _this?_ ” he asked, gesturing to his body.

 

 “Of course. It’s a miracle to them, Harry, _you_ are a miracle to them. Amoux, Accalia, the kids, fuck even Marrok is enamoured with you. They _adore_ you, of course they’re bloody happy,” Fenrir retorted, his voice slightly sharp.

 

 Harry glared at him. “You’re all in bliss but none of you show my feelings on the matter any respect,” he snapped, instantly chiding himself for the way that sounded. _Pathetic,_ his mind spat.

 

 “You hid yourself away in here almost immediately,” Fenrir replied stiffly, “you haven’t seen any reactions so how would you know?”

 

 With a growl under his breath, Harry went back to drying himself. He didn’t know what to say to that except, “So what if I wanted to be alone? I’m entitled to be pissed off about what’s been done to me against my will,” he muttered.

 

 Suddenly, two firm hands gripped his shoulders through the towel, stilling him instantly. His entire body twitched. He didn’t know how to react to that touch anymore. Those blue eyes, darkened with unreadable emotion stared down at him.

 

 “And I’m entitled to be happy about the fucking miracle you and I created, whatever the circumstances,” Fenrir growled.

 

 “Bit soon for you to be asking for another smack in the face,” Harry murmured darkly.

 

 Fenrir roared in frustration. “I’m bloody _trying_ with you, you know. You might make an effort to see my side as well. This is what we _are_ , who we are – you were coming to understand, even enjoy that before last night.”

 

 “You’re trying to make me into some _bitch_ ,” Harry protested, struggling to free himself from Fenrir’s grasp, but his limbs were trapped by the towel.

 

 With another growl, Fenrir sneered at him. “When have I ever? I’ve never tried to change you! You seem to think fucking me and mating with me, carrying my cubs makes you less of a man or something, changes you in some way, but it doesn’t. You’re still the obnoxious, bad-tempered little shit I saw spitting at _His_ attempts to break you. I’m giving you everything you’ve always wanted and have never dared to take for yourself!”

 

 “When and if it suits _you_!” Harry declared. “You’re right, I was…I was alright, or near enough alright with you, but I still wanted to get out of this cave and do what I was meant to do. I still wanted to see my friends, finish _Him._ And I didn’t want last night or what came of it!” His throat ached from the shouting, but he couldn’t stop. “You’ve turned my life upside down and you just expect me to adjust because it’s _part of my blood_ or some shit like that!”

 

 “I expect fuck all,” Fenrir shot back, “I’ve worked my arse off trying to help you adjust and just because of what someone else did to _both of us_ last night, you’re ready to piss away all the progress we’ve made over the last month.”

 

 That made any reply that had been brewing die on Harry’s tongue.

 

 “You’re making me into the enemy when we’ve both been betrayed,” Fenrir continued when Harry said nothing, “the fact that I’m less upset about it than you are doesn’t change that.”

 

 “Of course I’m upset,” Harry all-but whispered, loathing the defeated tone to his voice. “I can’t do this as well; another thing I have to save or protect from Vol– _Him_ , from rapist rogue werewolves…” At this Fenrir’s grip on his arms slackened and Harry backed away from him, lowering his eyes, biting back the liquid stinging the backs of them.

 

 “I’ll protect you, both of you,” Fenrir mumbled, gesturing to Harry’s stomach again. Harry took another few steps back, still not looking up. “I meant what I said, you know, when the time is right I’ll wipe him off the face of the earth…for you.”

 

“ _I_ have to kill him, Fenrir, it has to be me,” Harry said, his voice weary.

 

 Fenrir’s expression, his sincerity remained unchanged. “It will be you, but through me,” he explained, gripping Harry’s shoulders tighter for a moment, before caressing them with his calloused thumbs soothingly. “I saw how strong you were today, pet,” he breathed. “I saw your power, but if you think that makes a difference to what we agreed about _Him_ you’re mistaken. He’s not getting close to you with a ten foot bloody pole – is that clear?”

 

 Harry glared up at him, but as he opened his mouth to speak, he realised quickly the difference between this kind of pig-headed domineering behaviour and the kind the Dursleys used to display. The look in those hard blue eyes told him that it was more down to the fact that he cared about him, than the desire to control him – at least a little. _Oh, he’d love to control me,_ his mind supplied, _but only because he cares… I think._

 

 Holding that gaze for a long, silent moment, Harry pushed firmly at the alpha’s chest and moved slowly around to the opposite side of the bath so that he could not grab him again. He wasn’t ready to be held down or held in place again, especially not by Fenrir. Gazing into the steaming hot spring pool he found his voice again. “What I did back at the waterfall,” he began hesitantly, “all that carnage and… _power_ , that was the raw werewolf magic you said I would experience when the time came, wasn’t it?”

 

 Fenrir nodded slowly. “A taster of it. You’ll have more to come. It’s a lot like your accidental, adolescent wizards magic, as I understand it.”

 

 With a wince, Harry asked, “And will it always be as explosive as that? As intense? I felt the way I do during moon heat only…worse. It was like another part of me had taken over.”

 

 “You’ll gain more control over time, the same as your wizard magic. It’s in tune with your emotions and instincts. With practice you’ll be able to summon it and channel it through you at will without a stupid wand and without needing an emotional high, but like I said, with practice.”

 

 Harry frowned. “And until then? I’ll just have these random outbursts whenever I’m pissed off, like today?”

 

 Fenrir observed him carefully as he replied, “You wanted to protect me and the cub, that’s why it hit you so hard and so fast, because you were afraid for us.”

 

 Partially stunned, partially indignant at the accusation, Harry just stared at him. What was he supposed to say to that? “I don’t like _anyone_ dying, especially not in front of me and least of all when I could’ve done something to stop it,” he murmured quietly.

 

 With a derisive snort, Fenrir slid into the water. The steamy surface rippled with his movements. Circular patterns danced across it away from Fenrir’s muscled, blood and dirt encrusted body and towards the edge where Harry stood. It was as if it was beckoning him in. Still watching him, Fenrir slowly began to clean his body of the evidence from the fight, wincing as he skimmed the particularly nasty gash across his side – the old wound that had been reopened.

 

 “Why are you so terrified of admitting you give a shit about me? That you already care about the part of me growing inside you?” Fenrir demanded gruffly, sinking lower into the water to wash the blood from his hair. Harry winced at the terminology, but Fenrir saved him the trouble of having to think of a reply. “Are you afraid it’ll mean you have to admit you want to stay here?”

 

 Harry shook his head, exasperated. “No matter how comfortable you make it for me here, the fact remains that I’m trapped here, and this–” he gestured to his belly uncomfortably, “it just makes me feel even more trapped.”

 

 “I told you, we’re all trapped here because of _Him,_ once he’s dealt with you’ll have more freedom,” Fenrir began.

 

 “And what if when that day comes I don’t want to stay here anymore? What if I want to leave, will you try and stop me?” Harry demanded, because that was what this was about, why they kept coming back to the same dead end. He wanted free will, the freedom to choose a life for himself.

 

 Washing the last of the blood and grime from his body, Fenrir rose from the water, pulling himself out of the spring with droplets of water dripping down across his face and body. Steam rose from his hot, clean skin as he stared down at Harry. “Of course I would,” he said simply, albeit with a low, husky tone, his eyes dark and intense as ever. “I want you, why wouldn’t I fight for what I want?” The briefest heartbeat thudded in the silence and then he added, “but you like it here, you like it with me, so the point is moot.” With that he reached for Harry, who staggered back out of his reach, still clutching the towel tightly around him.

 

 “Don’t recoil from me as if I’d hit you,” Fenrir snapped, “If I remember rightly it was the other bloody way around!”

 

 Harry winced. “I know and I’m sorry but I just…can’t,” he said tiredly. “I need some space from you – from all of this. I want to sleep in Amoux’s den tonight, maybe for the next few nights–”

 

 “Don’t be ridiculous,” Fenrir snorted, “this is your den. You’re pregnant now, you need to be in a place you know with smells you recognise. This is where you’re going to give birth–”

 

 “Don’t!” Harry snapped, shaking his head and barely refraining from clapping his hands to his ears. “Don’t talk about me using those…those words. They make me cringe.” His teeth grated together at the echo of them in his head. “I’m not a _girl_!”

 

 Fenrir snarled. “You’re being fucking ridiculous, Harry. I’ve told you, you’re the only one that keeps thinking of yourself like a woman just because you–”

 

 “If you stopped treating me like one it’d be easier to believe,” Harry growled. “You’re the one getting so pissed off just because I want some space! It’s not much to ask after what’s happened!”

 

 “You can’t run away from me,” Fenrir growled darkly, “You can’t hide away from your fears or your desires. We’re mated – we have to deal with what happened together. It happened to both of us!”

 

 Harry shook his head, striding out through the arch and back into the den, hastily throwing off the towel and pulling on a pair of clean trousers before Fenrir stormed into the room after him. “I’m not a coward,” Harry snapped, beckoning a confused looking Ghost onto the bed and petting him calmingly. He didn’t seem to like it when he and Fenrir fought and he somehow knew it was because they were the alpha pair – the pack was in discord when they were at each other’s throats.

 

 “I’m not running, I just want some time alone, is that much to ask?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

 

 “Time for you to fester, to blame yourself for what happened and to completely piss away what little bliss I’ve given you the last month!” Fenrir declared, glaring at him, naked as the day he was born and dripping over the furs that covered the floor. The alpha grit his teeth now, evidently fighting a battle to rein in his soaring temper. “I can’t let you do that, Harry.”

 

 “It’s not a case of _‘let’_ me!” Harry retorted hotly. “I’ll do what I want and if you think it’s not a good idea for me to sleep elsewhere then _you_ leave!”

 

 That growl was back again, reverberating deep in the beast’s throat. “How dare you try to send me packing like a snivelling lap dog!”

 

 At that, Harry gave a great rolling snarl of exhaustion and despair and threw himself back onto the bed. “Fine, I don’t even care anymore, but if you try and touch me, or try to get in this bed with me tonight – any night, I’ll bite your fucking bollocks off.” With that he rolled over onto his side so that his back faced Fenrir, wrapping himself tightly in the furs as if they would protect him from any potential advances.

 

 There was a moment of nothing, where all he heard was the werewolf’s violent breathing. Eventually, Fenrir stomped across the room with heavy-footed rage, noisily snatched up some clothing and slammed the door on his way out of the den.

 

 Harry exhaled slowly, too tired to feel what he knew he should, anger, frustration, fear, humiliation, guilt. He was just so very tired. Spooning up against Ghost’s side, he rested his head on the wolf’s belly, the scent calming him. He sighed as he felt the wolf lick at a tuft of his hair comfortingly and petted his white muzzle in thanks. _There’s no way me and him can survive together long enough to kill Voldemort, much less raise a child,_ he thought worryingly, closing his eyes tighter as if that would make the problems go away. He cuddled closer into Ghost’s warm fur. _Fenrir and I will tear each other apart long before then…_

_~To Be Continued..._


	12. Only Time Will Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about this chapter. It's mainly about growth. It's subtle and understated. I hope not too understated - call it the calm before the storm and perhaps an intermission that focuses solely on Fenrir and Harry's recovery from what happened. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you again for all the lovely reviews, they all mean the world to me.

.: Chapter Twelve :.

Only Time Will Tell

 

 

 Time passed in the valley between the mountains. The air turned warmer as summer greeted them with longer days and a blissful heat that seemed to enrich the pack with delightful peace. The youngsters spent most days playing noisily but happily on the sun-kissed grass. Today Harry watched them from where he lounged across the relatively flat boughs of the willow, overlooking the pool they were currently splashing each other in.

 

 It wasn’t a very difficult climb up and it gave him a place to sit without worrying that everyone was watching him. It was fairly cool as well, with the long swaying leaves shielding him from the sun but allowing in the breeze. Ghost lay in the shade of the tree below, as close to him as ever.

 

 Everyone had been very thoughtful regarding the…situation. They smiled knowingly, kindly at him and Harry swore Amoux was making more effort with his meals than necessary, but that didn’t stop them looking – looking at his stomach in particular with every chance they got. It was the very tiny elephant in the room that nobody spoke of and that suited him fine, because he didn’t want to speak of it. Not when he was only _just_ able to think of it without cringing at the word ‘pregnant’ or ‘baby’.

 Fenrir had been sleeping on the pile of plush furs around the fire in their den, permitting him some respect at least. He hadn’t challenged Harry's threat, had not even attempted to join him in the bed or touch him, though Harry sensed that he wanted to. Truth be told, a part of him wanted it too but he just wasn’t ready to open himself up, not again, not so soon.

 

 There had remained a strict invisible barrier of a foot or so between them at all times since their argument a few months ago. Fenrir’s attitude was the same, just as brash, just as tempestuous but his reserved demeanour around him made Harry uneasy, awkward even. Though he realised as he stared up at the sky through the glittering gaps between the leaves, this was Fenrir’s way of showing he was trying, apologising. _He feels bad for what happened,_ his mind supplied, but he knew this already.

 

 At first he’d been glad of an opportunity to increase the gap between them, but now he just wished things could go back to how they had been before. He didn’t know if that meant he wanted to stay here, or if he wanted the infant growing inside him, or even if he wanted to be part of this peculiar family here in the valley. All he did know, was that he’d never been so close to peace or happiness as that first month he’d been here, never felt so wanted. It hadn’t been perfect, but it’d been the best he’d ever felt. Now he just felt like a burden that everyone tiptoed around. All his own doing, of course.

 

 Closing his eyes briefly, Harry inhaled the summer breeze, smelling Fenrir not too far off from the boundaries of the mountain, out with a few others hunting as he understood it. They spent a lot of time these days making forced, inconsequential talk and this morning as Fenrir had departed, he’d paused on the threshold of the gates and offered Harry an almost longing glance before vanishing with the others out of sight. Harry blinked up at the canopy of the trees again. It was the full moon again tonight and though he didn’t go into ‘heat’ as such anymore, he always felt uneasy, fidgety and apprehensive. It was down to the others all exuding their usual monthly aggression and arousal, he knew that, but it didn’t help that he lay wrapped in his furs every time, fighting the growing urge to seek comfort in his mate.

 

 With a wince he looked down at his stomach, covered by his pale green, loose shirt. He still felt compelled to go to Fenrir because of his own hormones, because of his ‘situation’ but that wasn’t the only reason he grinded his teeth in frustration at his own pathetic thoughts. _I miss how he made me feel,_ he thought wretchedly, _but I’m not sure if I miss him._ Didn’t that make him a selfish, wretched person? Wanting someone for how they made him feel – or was that the only reason that every night seemed to be getting worse? He was so confused.

 

 Suddenly, movement from the side yanked him from his thoughts. He glanced to the side to see Vilkas climbing up to sit with him atop the tree’s expansive trunk. He beamed happily, it was a stunning expression of such innocence and adoration that Harry could not help but respond in kind.

 

 “You alright?” he asked the boy gently, watching him carefully as he made himself comfortable beside Harry. Harry may not have had much more excitement with his ‘werewolf’ magic since that battle with Conall and the others, but he was confident enough in his reflexes that he wouldn’t fall out of the tree. Vilkas was still a boy, however and Harry felt curiously protective of him – and the other children for that matter. Whether down to his personality, alpha status or ‘breeder’ ability, he wasn’t certain.

 

 Vilkas nodded brightly to his question, but a light frown was furrowing his brow. “Mum says you tired all time now, that why you watch and not play,” he said, still looking on Harry with confusion.

 

 Harry sighed. “Yeah, I s’pose that’s right. Heat doesn’t help either though,” he said.

 

 Vilkas didn’t seem to have registered his response, however. “Mum said you want to hide at the moon too,” he continued.

 

 Harry sat up a fraction from where he lounged across the branches. “It’s instinct, you know what that means, don’t you?” he asked softly.

 

 The little blond boy nodded, seemingly proud that he had such knowledge of a ‘grown-up’ thing. “It’s ‘cause you got puppies in your belly,” Vilkas said matter-of-factly, his round, bright eyes on Harry’s covered stomach now, still looking confused. Harry blanched, stunned and horrified at the words that plagued him, yet spilled so easily from the tot’s mouth.

 

 “Yes,” Harry breathed, slowly, quietly, as if admitting it aloud made it true. The boy’s eyes were wide now as he looked into Harry’s face. He looked amazed as well as confused.

 

“Never seen a puppy before – I get called puppy. Am I not the puppy anymore?” he asked, his brow creased with his youthful naivety. Harry couldn’t speak, couldn’t forge a coherent reply. The little boy edged forwards in the tree, eyeing Harry curiously with a glow in his young eyes. “Can I see?”

 

 Swallowing, hard, Harry froze. He didn’t even like to look at it himself! He avoided touching his stomach now at all costs and whenever he skimmed it briefly when he washed or dressed it would make him freeze on the spot. But even as his mouth moved soundlessly, uselessly to form some kind of answer, Vilkas was leaning forwards, resting his small head on Harry's still clothed stomach. His ear rested on the still relatively flat plain of Harry's belly – he’d been so skinny before that now he just looked like he’d eaten a few overzealous meals in the last few weeks. He couldn’t see his stomach muscles with much definition anymore, but he definitely didn’t _look_ pregnant.

 

 He stared curiously at the boy’s face and the look of wonderment that crossed it as he listened at his stomach. Then the frown crossed it again. “I can’t hear any puppies,” he  mumbled, sounding disappointed. After a moment, he lifted his head to gaze at Harry, his tiny hands still on Harry's stomach. “Let me see?” he asked and with a deep, slow breath in, Harry reached down for his shirt hem.

 

 With trepidation he tugged his shirt up to rest on his chest and both he and Vilkas seemed to look down at the barely there convex of his abdomen. Harry moistened his suddenly dry lips. He felt like Sigourney Weaver in that _Alien_ movie he’d got a peek of when Dudley had watched it back at Privet Drive. He must’ve looked horrified; Vilkas, however merely tipped his head to the side, caressing the skin inquisitively with his hands. Harry twitched. It tickled.

 

 “How do they fit there?” Vilkas asked, genuinely confused again. He leant down to look at Harry's stomach from the side. “Too small.”

 

 There was something so endearing and enlightening about the boy’s innocent curiosity. Harry had avoided contact like the plague for months and this was the first touch he’d felt – it was so sweet. It made the situation a little less _‘Alien’_ and a little more _‘Look Who’s Talking’. Or more like ‘Junior’,_ he thought with a cringe. Was he going to be like that? A fat man waddling around? He winced – he’d been so busy ignoring the problem (or trying to) that he hadn’t even though of _that!_

A far too ticklish touch snapped him from his thoughts and he instinctively grabbed Vilkas’s hands, choking back a snort of laughter. Vilkas beamed at him. “You smiled!” He declared triumphantly. “I made a smile!”

 

 “You did,” Harry agreed, chuckling softly, his mood uplifted as he tugged his shirt back down over his belly. It was strange, he felt warm all over, almost too hot in the summer heat and yet his stomach felt cold; unnaturally so. It had been for some time now but in his determination to ignore the ‘problem’ he had ignored that sensation also.

 

 Funny, how a child had been the one to make his childish plan of ‘ignore it and it will go away’ come to an end.

 

 “How many puppies? The wolves have lots of babies at once,” Vilkas said as Harry sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the tree and beckoning the boy into his embrace so that he could take them both down safely.

 

 Harry hesitated uncomfortably. “Just one I hope,” he said truthfully, waiting for the boy to wrap his arms around his neck before climbing carefully back down the willow’s helpful, wide trunk. Once his feet were back on the ground, Harry noted that Vilkas did not release his hold on him, not that he minded much. He’d missed the boy in his attempt to hide away from everyone’s eyes.

 

 Ghost got up, wagging his tail in greeting at him. Harry petted him in appreciation, but couldn’t help the geyser of anticipation that swelled up in his throat. Everyone was out enjoying the summer sun one way or another and he could sense their heightened instincts already in full swing. He swallowed uncomfortably.

 

 “I protect you?” Vilkas said comfortingly and when Harry turned his head to meet those eyes, the little boy placed a hand on Harry's cheek. “I be alpha and protect you?”

 Harry smiled appreciatively. “You’ll be a great alpha one day, Vilkas,” he replied, “I can rest easy now that I’ve got you and Ghost to guard me.” His voice was good-humoured, better than he’d heard it himself in weeks. He lowered the boy to the ground, smirking as he started to tussle with Ghost. Settling down at the base of the tree with his back against the bark, he closed his eyes and against habit, for the first time in months, he relaxed in full view of the rest of the pack, trusting his instincts that he was safe here. That those eyes on him were something to be grateful for, not to fear.

 

 He must have dozed off for it was practically dark when he opened his eyes. The last of the sun’s rays were dying behind the mountain-side somewhere. It would be nightfall soon and the pack would change. He’d spent the last two moons shut in the den away from them all, including Fenrir and that was where he would be heading tonight too. Despite his slightly improved mindset regarding…everything, he wasn’t ready to face the pack under the full moon yet.

 

 Everyone seemed to be clearing up after their meal, readying for the change. He was just wondering if he had enough time to wolf something down when he realised he was being approached. Beside him, Ghost lifted his head and wagged his tail in greeting as Fenrir came to stand over them both, the fading sunlight silhouetting him against the sky.

 

 “It’s odd to see you relaxing in full view of everyone,” he murmured, his voice pregnant with deep thought. Harry flushed slightly, embarrassed to have been caught after falling asleep. It was tiring being on edge all the time, being anxious and stressed, he supposed. “You must’ve been tired,” Fenrir continued, lowering himself down onto his haunches so that he wasn’t towering over him.

 

 Harry was saved from having to answer by Vilkas barrelling in, naked as the day he was born and leaping like a dog in between Fenrir and Harry on all fours. “I protect Harry,” he declared proudly, his little face quite serious, “he scared of wolves! I’ll protect him!”

 

 A small smirk broke across Fenrir’s stubbled mouth. His sharp white teeth glinted in the dim light. “Is that so?” he asked, looking from Vilkas to Harry and back again. “Even from me?”

 

 Vilkas’s serious glare turned into a frown of confusion then. Evidently he wasn’t quite sure of that and so he simply shook his head free of that question and stated happily, “I got see puppies! I got to touch!” He rocked back and forth on his hands and knees with excitement. “They’re in his belly!”

 

 Wincing slightly at this declaration, Harry shifted up to right himself from where he’d slumped against the tree and could not help but notice the way Fenrir’s eyes flashed down to the slither of stomach that was revealed as he adjusted himself. Harry tugged his shirt down as subtly as he could and cleared his throat awkwardly. That gaze lingered there for a moment too long after that, before they focused on Harry’s face again.

 

 “Go find your mum, Vilkas, the moon is nearly here,” he said distractedly, not taking his eyes from Harry.

 

 The little boy gave a final glance back to Harry, as if to ensure he was ok before bounding off obediently to find his mother. He left behind an awkward silence that frequented the moments that Harry was alone with Fenrir – or anyone else for that matter. Harry fidgeted, patting Ghost’s neck just to give himself an excuse to look away from his mate’s unfathomable gaze.

 

 “You look pale,” Fenrir murmured at last, cautiously breaking the silence between them. “Here, eat.” He handed out the bowl he’d been holding and offered it to Harry. It smelt like salmon and sweet potatoes; he’d overheard Amoux mentioning to Accalia about foods that were good for the body when it was ‘expecting’ the other day. He assumed these must be particularly good, he usually just had a more thoroughly cooked version of whatever everyone else had…

 

 Taking the bowl in silence, Harry nodded his thanks and began eating, unable to _not_ notice the way Fenrir watched him the entire time. He was very pensive tonight, was it because of the moon? Because of what Vilkas had said?

 

 “That boy is very attached to you, even more than the other kids,” Fenrir mused aloud.

 

 That suggested it was because of what Vilkas had said then, Harry thought and forced himself to look up at Fenrir’s face. “He wants to be alpha one day,” he said softly, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere between them. It seemed to work a little, for Fenrir smirked.

 

 “He’s a good kid, absolutely infatuated with you, but good,” the alpha muttered, glancing briefly to Harry’s stomach again, as if wondering if whatever was in there would grow to become anything like that. When he spoke next, however, it was nothing to do with the obvious thoughts Harry could see swimming in his eyes.

 

 “The closer we get to the full moon rising the more fear I sense rolling off you. We can all smell it; I thought you knew you were safe here?” Fenrir asked, his usual gruffness almost covering up his confusion – almost.

 

 Harry didn’t know what to say. Deep down he knew that was true, that most of the people here would rather die than hurt him and that what had happened with Fenrir two full moons ago had been an anomaly. _It only happened because I let Fenrir get too far,_ he thought – that didn’t make it _his_ fault, he knew that too. Neither was it truly Fenrir’s, but he still just couldn’t bring himself to face him as a wolf again, not yet.

 

 With a low sigh, Harry put his now empty food bowl aside and Ghost lapped up the sauce at the bottom with interest. “It’s just a…mental barrier or something,” Harry conceded eventually, forcing himself to hold Fenrir’s gaze. “I’m not afraid of the pack, or you. I feel on edge all the time because of…well, you know,” he gestured uncomfortably to his stomach and Fenrir gave such a slight nod that Harry almost missed it.

 

 “The wolf has pined for you the last few moons,” Fenrir murmured huskily, his azure eyes shining in the growing darkness, reflecting the last few rays of the sun. “I want to see you under the moon tonight.”

 

 Harry winced. “I… _can’t,_ ” he managed out, uncertain how to take the intense angst in those eyes. For once he didn’t think it had anything to do with desire – not of the sexual kind in any case. He wasn’t sure how to deal with that. How much more time would pass before he would feel the way he had only two months ago? Or was that beyond his reach now? Was he spoiled goods?

 

 Fenrir continued to stare at him. For a moment Harry was sure he was about to say something else, but the alpha seemed to think better of it. Without another word Fenrir rose slowly to his feet and turned to leave him sitting alone by the tree once more.

 

 

 A growl of sheer frustration and misery rumbled through Fenrir’s lips the moment he was out of reach of Harry’s hearing. He snarled as one of the others approached. They were no doubt about to ask him a question about the night’s arrangements, but they quickly got the message. Only Echo dared approach him in such a foul mood.

 

 “Give him some time,” the beta assured him, glancing in Harry’s direction, watching the boy vanish into his den with Ghost, closing the door behind him. The door that Fenrir _knew_ Harry had asked Accalia to reinforce against the entry of wolves during the moon. Once that door was closed it could only be opened by a humanoid hand. His wolf had scrambled and scratched at the door enough without success the last few moons to prove Accalia’s magic true.

 

 “Time has gotten me nowhere so far,” Fenrir growled through clenched teeth, feeling the aggression and pent up sexual tension that the moon inspired swell within him as sunset approached. “He just withdraws further into himself, further away from me. It should be my hands on his belly and my cub.”

 

 Echo moved to stand in front of him, studying his expression. “You’re hurt by that. Why didn’t you tell Harry that? It is crucial for the infants to have contact with the father and the pack if possible as well–” His words were cut short by a sharp snort of disdain from Fenrir.

 

 “ _You_ try telling him that, he just wants it to disappear,” he grumbled, lifting his head to stare at the now cloudy sky, where the moon would appear in a matter of moments.

 

 “Can you blame him?” Echo asked with a small, knowing smile. “Not just because of what happened but because he is so young and so new to our way of life. He’s barely had time to adjust to one aspect before something else has been thrown at him. And as I understand it, he has a great deal of problems left unsolved back in the wizarding world as well.”

 

 Fenrir mumbled in agreement half-heartedly. Yes, he knew this but that didn’t make it any easier to handle, or to help Harry, or to comply with his wishes for some space when all it was doing was making them both pissed off and miserable. “So what am I bloody well meant to do?” he demanded of his friend, his limbs almost humming with the proximity of the moon. It was close. “You know everything, so tell me.”

 

 With a small chuckle, Echo took a few steps back from him, providing enough space in between them that they wouldn’t accidentally hurt each other as they turned. “Let him come to you, Alpha. Trust him.” With that, the sun died, the clouds parted and the moon glistened high in the sky.

 

*                      *                      *

 

 What followed was probably the longest and most emotionally (and physically) exhausting night of Harry’s life. He lay on the bed of furs, his body burning hot – far too hot and yet his belly freezing no matter how many blankets he pulled around him. He even tried to steal some of Ghost’s body heat to warm it but it just didn’t help. It felt as if he’d swallowed an iceberg. The sounds of the pack tussling outside were more than audible, but they were not what made him wince and ache all over – it was the howling.

 

 Greyback was howling – for him and Harry felt his distress and loneliness thick in his throat, so potent he could barely breathe. The mixture of sharp cold and aching heat fighting through his limbs made him fidget restlessly on the bed, made his chest rise and fall in cold sweats.

 

 Claws scrabbled frantically against the wood of the door, which shuddered under the force of _Greyback’s_ bodyweight as he struggled to enter – to reach his mate. The sheer distressing nature of the sounds made his eyes flicker to the door nervously, but he knew Greyback couldn’t get in. Only Fenrir could, come the morning.

 

 But there was Fenrir’s unyielding pain in Harry’s head, in his chest right now, along with two other voices battling for dominance. His instincts, that wanted nothing more than to roll over and feel his alpha’s fur against his skin, feel that tongue claiming him – strengthening the claiming scent that was nowhere near as powerful as it should be. And of course his human anxiety that wanted to curl under the covers, fall asleep and never wake up.

 

 Writhing in fits of anxiousness and the distress of his mate, sleep avoided him until the moon had all-but faded from the sky. But it didn’t rest with him long. Just as the sun began to rise, turning the sky pink with its presence, he was tugged brutally back from his uneasy slumber by the sound of the den’s door opening. He’d eventually fallen asleep on his side, with Ghost resting against his belly to comfort him, both of them facing the door.

 

 Cracking an eye open, Harry saw Fenrir’s naked body silhouetted against the first rays of the sun through the doorway, before he closed the door behind him quietly. The room was still quite dim with the early morning light trickling through the great columns that often illuminated it. They seemed to have a sense of timing, however for they never expressed the day’s full brightness until much later in the morning. So it was that Harry squinted to make Fenrir out as the man moved slowly across the room, settling down on the furs around the last burning embers of the fire circle. He hadn’t had a good night either, Harry could tell.

 

 Was this all just happening to them because of the moon? Surely not; the wolf and Fenrir were the same being, shared the same emotions, surely that meant that if the wolf was pining for him last night, then Fenrir was too? He closed his eyes, not wanting to betray his consciousness yet. He wasn’t ready for the conversation that would occur or the inevitable awkwardness. They both knew what the other had suffered last night. What they still suffered now.

 

 It wasn’t just that he missed the way Fenrir made him feel, he knew that now. _I miss him,_ he thought, curling up tight around Ghost’s still sleeping form. But this revelation didn’t change the fact that he still wasn’t sure he could handle the sight or feel of _Greyback,_ intimacy in general or the most pressing matter that hung unspoken between them. Or inside him, as the case may be.

 

 That was when he realised. _Am I clinging to what happened, making an effort_ not _to move past it because as soon as I grow close to Fenrir again, I’ll have to accept that I’m…?_ He thought he already knew the answer, but as soon as it struck him a sharp, aching _freezing_ tide swept up inside his stomach. He couldn’t help himself, he cried out. His back arched and his hands flew down. “Shit!” he swore, his face twisting with pain.

 

 In his writhing panic, he rolled over, straight off the bed – only just catching himself on his hands and knees. He hissed as they collided with the hard floor, grateful for the plush fur rugs that took the brunt of his fall. Without thinking, allowing his instincts to carry him along the invisible tide of pain, he found himself at Fenrir’s side, on his knees. His entire body shaking.

 

 “What’s happening?” he gasped, meeting Fenrir’s eyes. Harry grit his teeth. His insides were filled with throbbing coldness now and yet the rest of him felt hot. Droplets of sweat beaded across his skin. He had felt this disembodied cold feeling focused in his stomach before, but it had never been this painful, this overwhelming.

 

 “Make it stop!” Harry snarled in part panic, part fury at his own helplessness. Fenrir reared up onto his knees and swatted Harry’s hands away from his stomach; replacing them with his own large, rough palms. His thick fingers moved across the relatively flat flesh, assessing him but as he did so, Harry found he could catch his breath again. He stared down at where Fenrir was touching him for the first time in months.

 

 “W-What the–”

 

 “I’m not sure,” Fenrir growled thoughtfully, his eyes (still rimmed with gold from the recent transformation) glowing in the darkness, intent on Harry’s stomach. “Here,” he murmured, “lay down, you don’t smell right when you’re fussing.”

 

 Harry frowned at the odd choice of words, but moved with those hands regardless, finding himself lying in a nook of furs with Fenrir looming over him, his hands still on Harry’s stomach. Fenrir’s brow was furrowed. Harry’s lips moved soundlessly a few times in attempts at speech, but any effort died on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. His skin still felt achy, his limbs were still shuddering slightly. Why?

 

 “How long’ve you felt like this?” Fenrir asked, his voice low.

 

 Harry blinked up at him, taking a moment to make sense of those words as slowly, his panic receded back into the dark recesses it had swept from. “A few weeks… I don’t really… The last two moons I’ve felt a bit… _weird_ but the feeling came and went. It was never this bad,” he muttered, looking down again when those hands tensed on his stomach, which was still cold but no longer plagued by piercing, icy stabs.

 

 “And you didn’t tell me?” Fenrir demanded, his tone accusatory.

 

 “We haven’t been exactly _talking_.”

 

 Fenrir growled lowly. “And whose fault is that? You’d risk our cub’s health over some irrational fear you have of me?”

 

 “I’m not afraid of you!” Harry declared sharply, his voice not sounding quite as strong as he thought it should. His instinct was to do nothing more than lie back and relax under the touch he had been starved of for so long. He didn’t _want_ to argue but Fenrir just seemed to push his buttons. _Maybe I can blame the hormones,_ Harry thought wretchedly, diverting his gaze from Fenrir’s searching eyes.

 

 “I didn’t know what to do. This is all fucking terrifyingly new to me, alright? My body is being invaded by werewolf spawn and I’m only just coming to terms with…” He grit his teeth. He wasn’t explaining himself very well. He was tired of going in the same circles. “Look, I’ve been a twat, alright, but so have you. I – I know I’ve been purposefully trying _not_ to get past what happened, to avoid accepting it,” he muttered, staring at a particularly interesting spot in the dimness around them.

 

 “I’m not ok with this, but I know I haven’t tried – and no matter how disturbing it is for me to remember _how_ _it_ came to be, it’s no excuse for me not trying to deal with it,” he growled again under his breath. He just sounded stupid now. He never had been a particularly loquacious person; words failed him at even the most pivotal moments. He was saved having to explain himself further, however, by Fenrir capturing his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting it up.

 

 Harry shook off the touch instinctually and instantly regretted the hastiness of which he did so when he saw the look in those eyes.

 

 “It was good before Weylyn interfered, wasn’t it?” Fenrir murmured huskily.

 

 Harry swallowed, blinking a few more times than was necessary. “Imperfect,” he said at last, his voice almost lost in the overwhelming silence, “but the best I’ve ever felt.” He couldn’t deny that much, Fenrir would know if he were lying. Slowly, the alpha nodded, his dark gaze suddenly commanding, rendering Harry unable to look away. He’d forgotten the glistening ring of gold that encircled those blue eyes whenever a particularly intense emotion ran through them both. He shuddered at the sight of it, and not from fear or discomfort – for the first time in weeks.

 

 Rather than release him, the hand that gripped Harry’s chin merely slid down to rest on his stomach again without permission. Despite the spike of irritation at Fenrir’s presumptuousness, Harry’s gradually warming insides quivered at the return of the touch. He wasn’t sure that he liked it entirely – anyone else touching his stomach that way felt weird. He squirmed in discomfiture.

 

 “But you still feel this is a prison to you, not a life,” Fenrir said. It was a statement, not a question.

 

 “I feel trapped,” Harry confessed after a brief pause. But he knew he couldn’t mince his words right now, not if he wanted to eradicate the awkward distress that hung between them – suffocating them. “Maybe if I’d had the chance to choose this myself and not be forced into it by circumstance along with everything else in my life… If _He_ weren’t out there killing everyone I care about and anyone else he comes across… Maybe if I weren’t the bloody _‘Chosen One’_ …” _And if wishes were horses,_ his mind supplied, finishing his nonsensical mumbling. He sighed heavily.

 

 “But this is what it is. I feel trapped. I know while _He’s_ alive we can’t do much to change that but now _this_ has been forced on me too. I’m not sure what you expect me to say,” he said, forcing himself to stare unwaveringly into those eyes. That brow furrowed further. “What?” Harry demanded when he could stand the silence no more.

 

 “I broke my promise. I swore I’d never force you to carry anything and I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for that,” Fenrir muttered gruffly. The forcefulness of his words were poor cover for the emotions rushing through their bond and bombarding Harry like a geyser. Harry blinked as that promise echoed from what seemed like so long ago now.

 

 _“I told you that you would get to choose and I never break my promises. You may be pissed off with the way things began between us, call it force if you want but I won’t be_ forcing _you to carry anything.”_

The one thing Harry wanted though, Fenrir couldn’t give. He’d sworn a blood oath that Harry would not escape, on _his_ life – that and Voldemort would grab him the second he was out of Fenrir’s range regardless. Harry also had a feeling their general area was being watched just in case Fenrir left the territory _with_ him too, though he understood Fenrir’s pride enough not to voice that suspicion aloud. _And besides_ , a voice whispered at the back of his mind. _Is that what you really want, or just what you_ think _you should_ _want? There’s a difference._

Harry shifted slightly, uncomfortable with that thought. _My wishes don’t matter, not yet, not until I’ve done what I set out to do._

 

 “We had a plan for _Him,_ ” Harry murmured, “I want you stick to it. As soon as he lets his guard down, we have to go find Ron and Hermione. Don’t break any of the other promises you made me.”

 

 Fenrir regarded him with a peculiar expression. “Can’t you be selfish and ask for something for yourself just once?” he griped and though his words were honest, Harry suspected that hadn’t been the source of the odd look. He swore he’d felt something akin to relief radiate through him just then. He didn’t have to press for an answer to his unasked question, however.

 

 “I thought you’d ask me to get rid of it _,_ ” Fenrir murmured in a barely there, coarse whisper, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face, as if studying his expression. Harry remained stone-faced. He didn’t have a right to be hurt by that accusation, not after all he’d said to warrant it. The mention of his situation made him still, however. He could not help the mental flinch as the mere insinuation hammered at what was left of his masculinity, his pride. He wasn’t ready to accept it, but he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

 

 With a sigh, he conceded. “You were right when you said I couldn’t hurt it. It’s still a child, no matter how it came into being.” He paused briefly. “I'm not sure if that's the right decision or not..."

 

 Fenrir pushed his chin up with his thumb again. “I can see now why people worship you, just like the Malfoy brat said,” he muttered, inspiring a dark flush to blaze across Harry’s cheeks.

 

 “When the hell did he say that?” Harry demanded hotly.

 

 “Just before we left,” Fenrir answered dismissively, “but I can see that it’s the truth and just why the entire wizarding world has gathered round you like a figurehead.” He was so young, barely a man and yet he was so courageous, selfless, so determined to do what was right. Fenrir both despised and admired that uncompromising quality of character. It was what his pack needed, what the world needed – more people like him. It made him want Harry even more and yet he could not have him, not really.

 

 “You always do what’s right,” Fenrir said, clearly thinking it  _was_ the right decision, “no matter how much it pains you. You would’ve bled to death on the floor at the _Tergarletum’s_ feet if I hadn’t wanted you so badly.” He shifted slightly, so that he was leaning over Harry a fraction more. His face was twisted in confusion and uncertainty so unlike him that it made Harry frown. He seemed to be fighting against something and it wasn’t until he spoke that Harry realised it was his own pride he was doing battle with.

 

 “I want to touch you,” Fenrir breathed, voice raspy. It was his way of asking permission, something he wasn’t known for. He was the alpha, he didn’t need permission. And it was a sacrifice of his pride that he needed to ask his own sub for it, Harry knew that. “Let me,” the werewolf demanded, his arms resting either side of Harry’s body, caging him in – Harry didn’t know if that was done purposefully or not.

 

 “I’ll try,” Harry said stiffly. He tensed as the werewolf leant in, pressing his nose into the hollow of his throat and inhaling deeply, eyes closed, not touching him anywhere else. Every muscle in Harry’s body tightened, but at the same time his skin tingled. His heart hammered at the feel of that hot breath on his neck, that comforting scent filling his nose. Which sensation, which instincts did he follow?

 

 That familiar low, comforting growl emanated from Fenrir’s lips, coursing through his body like a cooling breeze on an uncertain tide. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to stifle a desperate sound. This is the closest anyone had been to him since…

 

 Inhaling sharply, his eyes clenched shut even tighter. “Fenrir,” he began uncertainly, frantically moistening his suddenly dry lips. He didn’t like feeling caged in, feeling Fenrir’s weight pressing down on him, trapping him. He flinched, his hands curling into fists. Suddenly the low growl that left those lips grew more forceful, piquing as Fenrir rolled across Harry’s body, knocking him with his thigh so that Harry ended up on top of him, without him ever touching or gripping him with his hands.

 

 Harry stared down at him, so shocked to find himself in the dominant position when everyone’s emotions were running so high – so close to the full moon. He caught a flash of those azure eyes rimmed with gold, then that nose was nestled in his throat again, while Fenrir’s body and everything else seemed at a distance from him. While he, Harry was on top, he was in control as far as his basic instincts were concerned. His panic subsided slightly, though his breath still shuttered out of his lungs in uneven pants in time with his hammering heartbeat.

 

 “I’ll give you whatever you want,” Fenrir growled huskily, his voice harsh and hard but as sentimental as Harry had ever heard it. He’d said that before but never with such determination thick in his voice.

 

 “But don’t flinch away from me,” Fenrir growled. The ‘ _I couldn’t bear it’_ was unspoken but obvious between them. Fenrir wouldn’t say such things, but he didn’t have to. Harry could feel everything and he was speechless under such intensity.

 

 Evidently as disturbed by his silence as he would’ve been by anything Harry said, Fenrir’s head jerked back and he stared questioningly at Harry’s face. Suddenly his hand flew up, his thick, long fingers knotting in the hair at the back of Harry’s head and tugging his head back slightly so that Harry had to strain his eyes to see him. His heart was thudding frantically now and yet his panic still did not peak again.

 

 “I’m no good at soft and subtle, pet,” Fenrir growled, radiating frustration and almost forlorn, “and it’s driving me mad trying to be something I’m not.”

 

 Harry moistened his lips again. “I know who you are,” he managed, “you don’t need to lie to me, to be something you aren’t out of some sense of guilt. I don’t need or want coddling. I’m young but I’m not a child.”

 

 

 Fenrir could hear some of the boy’s old self in his voice now, it reassured him. He could sense some of the old determination and confidence that had been absent in the past few weeks too and his fingers clenched tighter in those dark locks. He realised his error now, he’d thought he should give Harry distance, give into his every whim but that had gone on for far too long.

 

 There were werewolf instincts inside him, werewolf pride and fear that would only heal with his alpha acting as he should – showing himself as the strongest, the most unyielding to prove he was capable of looking after him. _That_ was why Harry was so irrationally afraid, why he hadn’t been able to recover from what had happened when he’d last been faced with a transformed werewolf.

 

 Still maintaining a tight grip on the boy’s neck, he leant in to inhale at the corner of his jaw, nipping slightly. When Harry flinched in a mixture of fear and pleasure, Fenrir met his eyes, nuzzling the side of his mouth in both reassurance and dominance. That was what Harry needed to take his uncertainty away, to take away his need to worry about concerns he should not trouble himself with. It was Fenrir’s job to make him comfortable, safe and untroubled – this was a mistake he intended to rectify immediately.

 

 “You’re breeding,” he murmured, holding that gaze. “And while you are it’s up to me to protect you, to take care of everything so all you have to concern yourself with is my whelp growing in your belly.”

 

 Harry flushed in anger and embarrassment, wincing at the reference to his condition. The smell of his anger made Fenrir inhale again instinctually. He could feel more and more of Harry coming back to him. It was intoxicating. 

 

 “So that’s my job for the next seven months?” Harry growled, “feed your spawn and not to worry my little head about anything else?” He was tense like a trapped wild cat in Fenrir’s grasp and Fenrir smirked at the sight of the returning fire in those eyes. Vibrant, blazing green.

 

 “Three months, pet,” Fenrir murmured casually, “Werewolves carry for five in total, which gives you three to go. And as for the latter, you can do whatever you want except get nearly killed or worry yourself to death. Any concern you have is mine to solve – is that clear?” His punctuated his words with that low, rumbling sound that made Harry roll his head and his toes curl as relaxation spread through his limbs. The boy went almost limp in his grasp.

 

 “Three months?” Harry breathed sharply, horrified. Fenrir frowned, the boy obviously thought he would have a human cycle to get used to the idea. Belatedly he realised he should have been more delicate with that correction, but shrugged it off and pushed forward. He refused to linger any longer on things he could not undo. He’d learnt that hard lesson many years ago…

 

 “I won’t be ready in three months,” Harry gasped and Fenrir released his head a fraction so that their eyes could lock fully.

 

 “ _We_ will be,” Fenrir assured him with a sharpness that didn’t reach his eyes.

 

 Harry snorted. “ _We_ won’t be pushing werewolf offspring out of…” He flushed darkly. “Well I assume it comes out the way it went in.”

 

 Fenrir nodded in answer, his face tight with barely concealed amusement as Harry continued.

 

 “Well it’s coming out of my arse then and I’m not ready to…” The boy grit his teeth. “And I’m not ready to take care of anything when I can barely take care of myself! I can’t do it!”

 

 Fenrir frowned at the smell of panic rising again and gripped Harry’s forearms tightly, so that his claws scraped the skin there, the slight pain bringing Harry back to the present, tugging him from his downward spiral.

 

 “I’m to take care of you both until you feel ready, that’s what my duty is as your mate,” Fenrir told him, leaving no room for argument. His expression was stern and set.

 

 

 

 Harry could feel the strength running through the arms that had him fixed into place, could feel the power thudding in those veins as his scent clouded with determination. But rather than frighten him, it made his limbs slowly relax. His stomach was warming slowly with their proximity and at last his breathing was calming down into an even tide of long, thoughtful breaths. Slumping slightly where he sat, Harry sighed.

 

 “It’d be easier to face _Him_ than deal with this,” Harry muttered, “At least I’d know what to expect then.”

 

 Fenrir snorted. “You do know what to expect from this – a baby, everything else aside from that will come instinctually.” He paused a moment, until his silence summoned Harry’s gaze back from where it had wandered and back to his face once more. “You’re not alone, Harry, and you never have to fear that you will be again. You’ve got a home now, a family – you have me.”

 

 Harry blinked. Fenrir had assured him of this before of course, but this was the first time that it had sunk in with such finality. He’d been a petulant child about everything that had happened the last few weeks – his reasoning not withstanding. He’d shunned Fenrir, was too uncomfortable now for him to lay hands on his belly or _his_ child within and still the werewolf was beside him. Still this was Harry’s home, still those blue eyes were staring into him as if he were the last surviving being in the universe.

 

 This was unconditional, undivided affection and devotion of the like he was sure he’d never received since his parents died. No matter what he did, he didn’t think he could get rid of this man. The last of the clenching, icy pangs abated with a small swell of warmth as he shifted slightly, bringing Fenrir’s stomach mere centimetres from his own. This was what he needed right now.

 

 “That was almost sentimental,” Harry said with the barest of smirks, feeling the amusement touching his face for the first time in weeks. He felt lighter somehow, even though nothing had changed at all, not really. How could Fenrir do that?

 

 The werewolf frowned, but his lips quirked up in answer, offering a flash of his pearly white fangs. “I don’t think there’s anyone else that would dare accuse me of that,” he murmured, a dangerous glint in his eye. Then, he was serious again. He had to be, as much as he wanted to take advantage of Harry's openness. “I think you’ve realised by now that the cub needs close proximity to me, to the pack,” he began, almost cautiously, wondering just when he had become so tentative in stating what needed to be said. He’d never been this way before Harry came, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

 

 Harry's brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked, though his voice was absent of any accusation.

 

 “I didn’t know it’d manifest like that, I thought it was just a guideline,” Fenrir shrugged. “The last known birth of a pureblooded werewolf was my youngest brother and I was too young to realise what was going on.”

 

 Harry blinked at that. Fenrir never spoke about his family. Ever. “But…surely someone must have–”

 

 “Amoux learned a lot from the woman that delivered me and my siblings. Anyone else old enough to remember, who was close enough to my family died in the raid that killed them,” Fenrir said bluntly. He scratched the back of his neck in discomfiture, sitting up straighter in an effort to disguise any emotion. It was difficult with them this close, however. _And with the bond between us,_ Harry's mind supplied.

 

 “It’s a bit of a mystery. But now we know you need some contact with me,” Fenrir continued, dismissing the subject of his family. “I think some contact with the pack might help; you seemed better after letting Vilkas touch you. You need to feel protected, sheltered and provided for during this time, I know that much.”

 

 Glancing down at his stomach, Harry shifted back into the furs, drawing his knees up to put some space between their bodies. Thankfully, Fenrir seemed to get the hint and drew back as well, albeit with a disgruntled look on his face. Thinking of someone else’s feelings before he acted was new for him, Harry could tell.

 

 “I don’t know if I want everyone pawing at my stomach, I feel enough of a freak as it is.” Harry swore he _felt_ a silent growl emanating from Fenrir’s throat at that.

 

 “You’re a gift to us, not a freak and it pisses me off that you think otherwise,” Fenrir snarled, his hands curling into fists on the furs. “Makes me wonder even more why you’re so desperate to save a world that obviously made you feel that way. Even after saving their arses once.”

 

 Harry sighed. He didn’t think Fenrir would ever understand wizards or the wizarding world, so there seemed little point in justifying himself again. “I’m a wizard too you know. This thing inside me will be part wizard too–”

 

 “Not bloody likely,” Fenrir snorted. “It’s born from me, a werewolf and the werewolf aspect of your blood – it’s all wolf.” He paused then, seeming to give more thought to Harry's words. “Don’t call it a ‘thing’ either.”

 

 “Well I’m not calling it a ‘cub’,” he cringed, “and the word ‘baby’ just…” _Makes it seem more real,_ he thought, even knowing how stupid that sounded, even in his head. How long would it take him to adjust to this? Would he be anywhere near accepting this by the time ‘it’ came? What if it was born and he couldn’t stand the sight of it? His entire body tightened at the thought. He couldn’t do this.

 

 Suddenly, Harry felt Fenrir shift again so that he was beside him now, laying down, stiff with awkwardness as he tilted his head the slightest fraction to the side. Harry's eyes widened. It was the position of sincere contrition, one he’d never seen Fenrir adopt before, not even to him, who was the closest to his equal in pack politics.

 

 “I’m sorry for what happened,” the wolf muttered huskily. “I never wanted it to happen that way and believe what you like but I’d never have mounted you without your consent – as a wolf or as a man.” He visibly grit his teeth in frustration and rebelling pride.

 

 Harry found himself uncomfortable with the sight of his alpha submitting, even to him. Without realising, a low whine left his lips, an instinctual sound that hadn’t shuddered past his lips in that manner for what seemed like an age. It made Fenrir’s head right itself instantly, blue eyes flying to green in confusion.

 

 Flushing darkly as the sound of his own whine echoed in his mind, Harry cleared his throat. “I know it wasn’t your fault or mine, it doesn’t undo what happened though,” he muttered, not really knowing what else to say. That the sight of a transformed werewolf, the smell of them made his entire body seize up? That would be a pitiable admission from the mate of the most reputed werewolf alpha in the country.

 

 Fenrir grunted, sitting up properly again so that he was staring down at Harry through his silver locks, mussed up from his recent transformation. He had scratches and bruises brewing on him even now from what Harry could see, which told him that the alpha had been aggressive out there tonight. _Out of frustration because he couldn’t be with me,_ Harry realised, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

 “I’d give you anything, whatever you wanted to make things the way they were before. Echo says things take time, to take it one step at a time,” Fenrir said, almost mockingly, parroting his beta’s words in irritation. He scratched the back of his neck again, sweeping his locks back behind his shoulder. “But I’m not patient, never have been and I don’t know how to go about it either,” he snapped.

 

 At this, Harry could not help but smile. “That’s something we have in common then,” he replied, forcing himself to hold that gaze and not look away. There was a long pause before he found the strength to add, “and that’s why, when you said you’d give me anything…” He took a final, deep breath in for courage, “I want you to take me to _Him_.”

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, character name pronunciation key (please note that some accents/languages change the pronunciation, I'm just using how my region would say them):
> 
>  
> 
> Conall - [Kon] as in 'constant' and [Ull] as in 'pull'
> 
> Caleb - [Kay] as in 'okay' and [lub] as in 'club'
> 
> Canagan - [Can] as in 'I can' [Na] as in 'nat' and [Guhn]
> 
> Larentia - [Lah] as in 'the latter' [Ren] as in 'rent' [See] [Ah] as in 'apple'
> 
> Weylyn - [Way][Lin] as in 'linched'
> 
> Marrok - [Mah] as in 'matter' and [Rock]
> 
> Vilkas - [Vill] as in 'village' and [Kuhss] as in 'puss' with a 'K'
> 
> Amoux - [Am] as in 'amber' and [oo] like 'coo'
> 
> Accalia - [Ah] as in 'apple' [Kay] as in 'okay' [Lee][Ah] as in 'apple'
> 
> Lupa - [Loo][Pah] as in 'patronising'
> 
> Hemming - [Hem] as in dress hem [Ing]
> 
> Ulric - [Ull] as in 'pull' [Rick]
> 
> Radulf - [Rah] as in 'ran' [Dulf] like 'wolf' with a 'd'
> 
> Shae: is pronounced 'shay' - sh [as in 'ship'] and ai [as in 'pain']
> 
> Eithne: is pronounced 'eth-nih' - eth [as in 'ethnic'] and ni [as in 'nib']
> 
> Adair - [Ah] like 'apple' [Dare] as in 'I dare you'
> 
>  
> 
> I think that's everyone. If any more characters pop up, I'll add their pronunciations in the chapter's author's notes ;)


	13. Wisdom of Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone drew attention to a line in the last chapter that could (and apparently was) taken offensively by some. Looking back at it, I can see how it would've been misunderstood and taken the wrong way. Please believe me when I say it wasn't meant that way. Lesson learned - don't finish editing at 2.30am, you miss big things like this. I've edited it now and apologise to anyone that was hurt/offended by it - it wasn't meant to display my view, Harry's or to hurt anyone. I hope that anyone that was offended can still enjoy the rest of the story. Apologies again.
> 
>  
> 
> Please bear in mind also that not every rape victim recovers the same or handles sexual relationships the same way afterward.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to every single reviewer, every word, no matter how small, means the world to me, especially when I've had a bad day. I feel so inspired by you all. And even if you don't review, thank you for reading and enjoying, I hope you continue to look forward to every Friday with me : )

.: Chapter Thirteen :.

Wisdom of Age

 

 

 

A wide yawn broke Harry's face for the fifth time that day. The sun was hot as it bore down on them and their slow progress across the grassy plains. Harry knew it was his fault, knew it was because of his discomfiture with their werewolf forms. They could’ve covered twice as much ground as wolves, but that didn’t erase the fact that the thought of facing one of their bear-sized, powerful bodies made his limbs stiffen and blood curdle.

 

Tugging at his shirt collar he grunted, unbearably hot all of a sudden under the fur cloak and cumbersome clothing – despite the fact that he’d been freezing that morning. This hormonal, unstable temperature thing was ridiculous! Fenrir was marching up ahead bare-chested along with Marrok, while Raquelle wore a thin, lightweight blue fabric around her like a sarong (more to respect Harry's ‘delicate sensibilities’ than anything else Fenrir had said, reminding him that wolves had no qualms about nakedness like he did).

 

“Here,” a husky, warm voice murmured. Harry jumped slightly, still not as comfortable with close proximity to others as he once was, but forced himself to relax as he stared up into Marrok’s dark eyes. The black man smiled warmly down at him. “Let me carry your cloak and that for a bit,” he said, holding his large hands out.

Harry looked up at him sheepishly. He didn’t like weighing others down, letting others carry his load. It was for this same reason that he’d wanted to face Voldemort now, rather than later. He didn’t want to be a burden to anyone. He could feel Fenrir watching him over his shoulder though and remembered his promise to allow them to help him (and so the baby) before they’d departed.

 

“Yeah, cheers,” he said, stripping the usually comforting cloak from his shoulders and passing it into Marrok’s arms. He paused, however as he undid the last button of the shirt he’d been wearing, hesitating when he’d been about to pull it off. He could feel all three of the werewolves watching him now as they continued to walk.

 

“Look, I know it’s a human thing, and I haven’t ever lived as a human – being a born wolf, but…” Marrok’s voice trailed off as Harry met his eyes again. “It’s just skin, right?” the dark man said at last, “you’re only with us and we don’t look at it the way humans do. You know?”

 

Harry frowned. “It’s not so much that,” he muttered, glancing up to see Fenrir staring determinedly ahead, conversing with Raquelle in a low voice that Harry couldn’t quite make out, even with his improved senses. Then Harry looked down at the soft swell of his stomach, barely noticeable for what it was unless one knew. But he _did_ know, they all did and it wasn’t something he wanted on display.

 

Following his gaze, realisation dawned on Marrok’s face. “You don’t want us to see the cub?” he asked. “It’s normal, you know,” Marrok continued and he pressed on as Harry opened his mouth to argue. “Not much is known about breeding subs since the last of them seemed to die out during the Ministry raids years ago. But I do know that you want to make yourself small, as unnoticeable as possible for the cub’s sake.” He gestured his head to Harry's stomach. “Not wanting to display that you’re carrying is part of it. It’s a cautionary instinct in you. Why do you think your belly isn’t as big as a human’s might be practically half way through the pregnancy?”

 

Harry did cringe then at the ‘p’ word, as well as the mention of his stomach’s size. As soon as Fenrir had told him how far along he was in wolf terms he’d been pondering it. The infant and his stomach seemed really small and he’d been surprised to find himself worried that it was because of his scrawny stature and avoidance of Fenrir’s (apparently necessary) touch. “So I’m – I mean _it_ isn’t too small?” he asked curiously.

 

Marrok smiled at him. “No. I’d say you were just right. You won’t get too big anyway; it’s just the nature of it, you know, to make it easier to hide from predators or whatnot. The cub won’t be too big either, you’d be surprised how small big louts like me and the Alpha were when we were kids.” They both glanced ahead to Fenrir, who was so determinedly not looking their way that Harry was sure he had heard them.

 

_Probably relieved I’m taking an interest in the thing,_ Harry thought, having seen the unease in Fenrir’s eyes. Harry had still not so much as gestured to it since their confrontation two days ago. In fact, Harry's only acknowledgement of it was to lay beside Fenrir by the fire now, with his belly pressed against Fenrir’s back. It was a small step in a grander scheme of things.

 

Harry was still very unsure of what he felt about what was growing inside him, what to do with it, how to face it. His feelings toward Fenrir were even more confusing, but at least he knew one thing for certain, he’d felt like shit without him. What did that mean for his, Harry's future once all this was done?

 

They stopped on the edge of the forest that encircled the village of Shae. Fenrir had insisted it was a necessary pit stop before he took Harry to face Voldemort, though he had not elaborated on the why. Harry had been so relieved at his hard-won agreement to end this waiting game once and for all that he’d readily agreed to this condition.

 

When Fenrir Greyback finally agreed to what you wanted, you didn’t mess about.

 

“We’ll reach the village by nightfall,” Raquelle assured Harry, handing him a large slab of the sweet bread Amoux had given him for the journey to keep up his strength between meals. Raquelle smiled as she stretched out on the ground near Harry, relaxing in the shade of the tree they’d stopped under. Marrok was the one talking to Fenrir in hushed tones now and Harry found it more than a little annoying. Fenrir had barely looked at him in two days and now this? What was he discussing in secret with his pack-mates?

 

“It’s my fault we’re taking so long, sorry about that,” Harry said. Raquelle rolled over onto her belly on the ground and looked up at him. She was quite pretty and slender but in a way that spoke of strength too. Harry envied that strength. He could not feel more helpless right now if he tried.

 

“Don’t be silly. I don’t always get the chance to walk the land like this. I’m normally stuck behind watching the pack with Echo. Hemming and Lupa are the ones that usually accompany the Alpha to Shae.”

 

Harry nodded. Yes, the two best fighters of the pack who were with Hermione and Ron right now – supposedly. He wondered how his two friends were right now. _I’ll see them soon,_ he reassured himself, only hoping he was right.

 

“Hey,” Raquelle said chirpily, scrambling up to her knees so that their eyes were level (as Harry was sat on the ground leaning against the trunk of the tree). “You look knackered. Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit before we take off?”

 

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment. They’d stopped enough times on his account, on a quest that was all because of him. He’d never felt like such a nuisance, not since he’d lived with the Dursleys. “I’m not dying,” Harry protested. “I can handle a bit of a walk.” He’d not liked Fenrir insisting he needed to rest nearly every hour of this already drawn out journey either. He wasn’t adjusting well to this route that Fenrir had insisted he walk down, the path of letting people take on his burdens for him.

 

Raquelle, far from perturbed by his mood sat up a little higher on her heels and smiled at him. “We care about you, we care about the cub. You’re precious to us, a gift,” she said and when Harry held her gaze without turning away awkwardly, her smile seemed to become slightly nervous. “What’s it like?” she asked, all in a rush of breath as if ashamed of hearing it tumble from her lips. “You know…carrying a baby inside of you?” Her voice trailed off quietly at the end with a twist of longing and Harry felt like utter shit.

 

_I have something she and the others would kill to have, to feel,_ he thought and licked his suddenly dry lips as he inhaled shakily. What was he meant to say to that? He winced as he recalled his behaviour over the last few months. He wanted to say he was sorry but he didn’t think Raquelle would appreciate the pity that was certain to creep into his voice if he did.

 

He wasn’t naïve, he knew there were many people out there who were valid in making the opposite choice to him. He knew that he probably wouldn’t have been blamed for making the decision to get rid of it either. He hadn’t made the decision _not_ to get rid of it just to please them, or Fenrir for that matter. He’d made the decision for himself and yet he’d still been acting…

 

With a sigh, he realised that while his behaviour was justifiable, he didn’t want to offend everyone else with it. He was finding swiftly that he was coming to actually care about _‘it’_ and that was unnerving him. He was taking that confusion out on everyone else, which was different to hating his lot in life and being bitter. He didn’t feel bitter and he didn’t hate it. He didn’t want them to think he did, even if the notion scared him. They were only trying to show him he was cared about, after all, that he wasn’t alone and only interested in something they could never have. Eventually, he gave a small, uneasy shrug.

 

“Physically I don’t actually feel all that different to be honest,” he admitted. “I don’t feel it move or anything – if it does move that is. I’m not really sure how far it’s meant to have developed since I’m nearly half way there now.” He frowned and glanced down at his torso, which was covered again by his shirt. He had to admit it, he was more than a little concerned that he hadn’t felt any movement at all yet.

 

“My skin is more sensitive,” he said, trying to push the lingering unease from the forefront of his mind. He wasn’t going to divulge which _parts_ of him were particularly sensitive, however. “To be honest I feel bloated more than anything, like my stomach is full to capacity,” he paused, momentarily wondering just _how_ everything was fitting in his stomach, then added, “Sometimes I feel nauseous, otherwise I feel about the same.”

 

Raquelle stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, her smile not waning. “I bet it will feel wonderful when it starts to move,” she replied after a small awed silence, “though there’s probably not room for it to move around much – you’re still quite slim.”

 

Once again Harry didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He was both fearful and anxious for it to happen. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel. _Fucking terrified probably,_ he thought, inhaling slowly. He was starting to feel a little bit sick now he thought of it. What if this thing came into the world and he still couldn’t handle it?

 

“Does the Alpha touch it a lot?” she asked.

 

“He sits besides me,” Harry said, his voice full of discomfiture. “Sometimes I sort of lean against him.”

 

She blinked, but as with Marrok, seemed to understand. When she opened her mouth to respond, however, her voice was lost below Fenrir’s as he and Marrok returned to their side.

 

“Chance might be nice,” Fenrir muttered, looking down at the two of them, his eyes determinedly _not_ lingering over Harry. That frown returned to Harry’s brow as he struggled to his feet, he was getting sick of the alpha avoiding his gaze.

 

“ _Some_ people have personal boundaries,” Harry snapped, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed my space just because you went and put something in my stomach. I don’t want you pawing at me, alright?” He’d thought he’d been getting better, making progress but that evidently wasn’t enough. He grit his teeth, moving back onto the invisible path through the forest they’d been treading towards the village. He was sick of being angry or afraid.

 

A grunt sounded from behind him, but Harry _felt_ more than heard Fenrir catch up to him. He determinedly avoided looking away from the path straight ahead when the man fell into stride beside him. “Let me touch the cub,” Fenrir murmured, for his ears only, “it might help your hormones, stop you being so bloody irritable.”

 

Harry’s entire body tensed. He grinded his teeth hard – they’d be worn away to stumps before he came to term. “I’m pissed off because of you, not because of the hormones,” he replied shortly. Yes, they and the little lodger were part of what made him feel so unstable, but they weren’t the reason he was angry now. Not entirely. “It doesn’t need you _all_ the time,” he argued, “And I don’t think someone whose been doing his best to avoid me the last two days deserves extras.” He knew that phrasing sounded childish, but right now he didn’t care.

 

Fenrir smirked. “Oh, I like touching for your sake as well as the cub’s, pet, don’t worry,” he mused.

 

Harry glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Fuck you,” he snarled under his breath, hastening his steps. Logically, he knew he couldn’t escape the werewolf but he thought it might let Fenrir know to back off. He thought wrong. A hand shot out and whirled him around to face his alpha. The motion shocked him. Aside from laying next to each other to sleep, the wolf hadn’t touched him really at all the last two days.

 

“I’m sick of this attitude,” Fenrir snapped.

 

“And I’m sick of you avoiding me and having hushed conversations behind my back!” Harry retorted, temporarily forgetting their audience. Now he’d gotten to this point he just _needed_ to boil over.

 

Fenrir took a step away from him, as if being in his proximity right then was far too great a test for his temper. “We’re out here on our way to face the fucking _Dark Lord_ because _you_ wanted to! You’re getting what you asked for, what more do you want?!” he roared, turning to walk on ahead.

 

“I want you to look at me!” Harry bit back, freezing the alpha in his steps. “If you’re pissed off because you’re having to do something you didn’t want to in order to make good of your promises then say so. Tell me what you’re problem is, don’t whisper behind my back like I’m a child who can’t take the bloody truth!”

 

“My problem is you’re making me lead you into danger when everything in me screams to keep you both safe! I can’t stand to look at you right now.”

 

“Because you have to do something you don’t want to,” Harry began, but Fenrir’s raised voice cut him off.

 

“Because it makes me want to drag you back home and keep you there, even if it makes you hate me even more than you do now!”

 

Those words made Harry freeze, along with everything else in the forest it seemed. He stared up into those ice-blue eyes; dark with anger but also a flicker of the same fear Harry was far too familiar with. The fear of losing everyone – everything. Harry inhaled, preparing for speech but before he could find words, Fenrir cut him off, his voice harsh and coarse as ever.

 

“And I’m still undeserving of touching my child,” Fenrir growled darkly, it was a statement not a question. He took a step forward to stare down at Harry, as if challenging him to agree to those words. Harry felt his body tingle with instinctive unease at being towered over in his condition but raised his chin defiantly, not moving back.

 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Harry began, his voice unwavering. That’d been wrong of him to say that. But he was so frustrated and…

 

“You know what your problem is?” Fenrir growled, his voice low again, for Harry’s ears only. “You haven’t let me touch you in over two months. You need a good fuck and you’re angry and uptight because you don’t know how to admit it.”

 

Harry’s face flushed beet red, but before he could think of a reply, Fenrir had marched on ahead, leaving him, Raquelle and Marrok to catch up.

 

 

The sun was low on the horizon when they crossed the boundaries into Shae. Some villagers were still out and about, finishing up their tasks of the day and all inclined their heads in respect to them as they passed. Harry watched them curiously. He had been drunk on the moon the last time he’d been here and had not had chance to register how respected Fenrir was here. Not feared or hated, as he would have been in the wizarding world.

 

_Which is one of the reasons he hates it so much,_ Harry thought, staring thoughtfully at the back of the man’s head as they walked. The last few months his previous image of Fenrir Greyback had been shattered. The man was far from innocent and chivalrous, but he definitely wasn’t what the wizarding world had painted to be. _But neither am I,_ he thought.

 

Slowly, he increased his stride to fall into pace beside Fenrir and glanced up at him. He hadn’t spoken for a while now, not even to the others. “Why did you insist on coming here before we go to _Him_ anyway?” Harry asked, he still hadn’t been able to figure that out.

 

Fenrir didn’t look at him when he answered. “An elder relation is meant to bless the cub,” he explained stiffly. “When I was born I was blessed by my entire family, this is the best we can do.”

 

Harry heard the bitterness in his voice and not all of it was because of him. He felt the same loss and resentment in having lost his family too. It was not the first time in the last few months he wondered what his parents would’ve said if they’d been presented with his child – whether it was Fenrir’s or not. But he would never know – Voldemort had stolen that from him.

 

“At least you still have your grandmother, that’s something at least,” Harry said thoughtfully. He felt Fenrir glance down at him then, but did not meet his gaze.

 

“The blessing is meant to ensure good health and an easy birth,” Fenrir said, some of the bite gone from his voice. Harry was sure that wasn’t what the man had wanted to say, but the mention of the looming ‘birth’ made him pale. It was far too soon in coming and the notion terrified him for many reasons.

 

Before long they reached the familiar large single story home with the arched doorway. The door opened to them before they even attempted to knock. The familiar warm face framed by shining silver curls stared back at them. Ice-blue eyes (the same as Fenrir’s) considered them for a moment, before the elderly woman stepped back, silently beckoning the small group inside. On crossing the threshold, Harry's gaze was caught by her and she smiled comfortingly, _knowingly_ at him.

 

“You visited but a few days ago, when you did your last hunt,” Eithne said as she closed the door, gesturing with her hand for them all to take a seat. There were a few well-worn but comfortable arm chairs around the fire. Harry gingerly sat in one, his back and legs aching from their long trek. Marrok came to stand behind him while Raquelle took the second chair. Fenrir stood with his back to them all, his hands resting on the mantel piece, gazing into the fire.

 

“Don’t play games, you know we’re here for Harry's blessing, old woman,” Fenrir grumbled without turning to face them. Harry winced at his tone but Eithne simply smiled diligently, as if he had called her by the sweetest pet name and took the final chair by the fire, directly opposite Harry. There was an unspoken adoration between her and Fenrir, the kind that was all the sweeter for being silent. It was the same sort of affection that flowed between him and Remus, Harry thought, his chest tightening slightly as he thought of the old wolf. Tonks would’ve had her baby by now, he thought. Did she get through it ok? Did the baby?

 

Movement from the old woman snapped him from his thoughts. She was leaning forward in her chair, her kind, worldly eyes surveying him as the flickering firelight was reflected in them. “I couldn’t help my son much when he gave birth,” she began, “werewolf births are different, but I _was_ there when he had Fenrir and the triplets–”

 

“Triplets?!” Harry gasped before he could stop himself. He thought he heard Raquelle chuckle good-naturedly at the horror in his voice.

 

Eithne continued to smile. “It’s not very common in the stronger blood-lines. Werewolves are stronger than mere canines and so do not need to produce as many young at one time, but it has happened. My son had Fenrir, then the triplets (two boys and a girl) and then another boy.” She looked at Harry carefully then. “You still find it odd to speak about men and birth in the same instance,” she observed.

 

Harry felt uncomfortable now. He knew he was still ignorant and easily surprised with the ways of wolves, but how could he be anything else given the circumstances? “Yeah, I s’pose,” he began. “To be honest I’ve still not really come to terms with the fact that _I’m…_ well, I’m having a bloody baby and have to give birth and sooner than I thought too.” His voice was slightly higher than he would’ve liked, but no one commented on it.

 

Eithne leant forward, capturing his hands with his. Harry's eyes widened. He hadn’t allowed such a touch in so long.

 

“It is the unknown you fear more than anything else,” the old woman said in her dulcet voice. “What if you can’t do it? What if you can’t accept this child? What if there are more? What if something happens to them, or you, or your pack? What if the people you love die while _He_ is at large, while you are still indisposed?”

 

Harry stared at her, wondering how he was so easily read and saw Fenrir’s entire body tense out of the corner of his eye. The man still did not turn to face them, but Marrok and Raquelle were watching silently and Harry felt suddenly awkward that they had heard all of his worst fears spoken so plainly. His lips worked soundlessly for a few moments in vain, before the old woman spoke for him.

 

“I can help assuage a few of those fears of yours, at least erase some of the unknown, but the rest you must trust my grandson to aid you in,” she said softly and slid forward onto her knees with the fluidity of a woman half her age. Harry stiffened in the chair as she released his hands. He knew what she was about to do and he didn’t know if he could allow it.

 

Fenrir turned slowly now to face them, leaning on the mantle with one arm as he stared into Harry's eyes. The light was dwindling outside, Harry could see that through the windows and the fire cast a warm glow over Fenrir’s form as he held that gaze. The man wouldn’t make him do it, but he wanted him to and for the first time, Harry did something purely to ease the tension from the alpha wolf’s body. He relaxed back into the chair (or tried to) as Eithne carefully reached for his stomach. He could not help but flinch as her long-fingered slender hands moved his shirt up out of the way, however.

 

“You know, you’re more like a spooked tiger than a wolf,” she mused, holding his gaze. He said nothing, mostly because he wanted to remind them all that he wasn’t a bloody werewolf, but he didn’t want to be rude. He merely grit his teeth as her warm hands touched his bare stomach. “You need to have more contact with Fenrir, bare skin on skin is best during the pregnancy – you are a little too cool to the touch,” Eithne said, looking at his only slightly rounded stomach. It didn’t even look like a bump really and Harry half expected her to comment on that, despite Marrok’s assurance that his size was normal.

 

The old woman’s brow furrowed with concentration then and the soft pads of her fingers traced Harry's stomach, pressing gently. “Tell me if I cause you discomfort,” she said, before pressing a little more firmly. She was circling a particular area of his flesh at a time now, pushing harder here and there, moving her palm up into his stomach. Whatever she was doing, it was taking forever.

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but he said nothing so Eithne did not stop, engrossed in her task. It felt unnatural to leave himself so open to a potential attack, as well as embarrassing for all eyes were on him now. Cautiously, he peered up from under his lashes to where Fenrir stood. The man was watching them with a platonic hunger in his piercing blue eyes. The wolf had been avoiding his presence and gaze because he was scared of losing both him and the baby, because he didn’t want to break his promises to Harry due to that fear.

 

_But he’s looking at you now,_ a voice whispered at the back of Harry's mind. He dampened his suddenly dry lips with his tongue. He was afraid of the touch on his stomach right now, it didn’t make him shudder and cringe as it might have. It was uncomfortable and he’d rather it was over but he could bear it. Why couldn’t he bear it so Fenrir could touch it too?

 

_He’s earned that much¸_ Harry thought. But what about what Fenrir had eluded to earlier? Harry winced, he didn’t think he could bear much more touching than this, much less _fucking_ at the moment. It was too soon, whether his body wanted it or not.

 

At that moment, Eithne sat back slightly, looking him in the eyes, snapping him from his thoughts. “Well, it might either disappoint or relieve you to know that you’re carrying only one child, young one,” she said. A sharp rush of relief rushed up through Harry's stomach and out through his mouth as a low, deep sigh – like a sudden breeze and he gave her a small, nervous smile.

 

“Thanks,” he said quietly, stunned to silence. He didn’t think he was ready for a child, that he could accept it, but at least it was just one…

 

“Those born alone are said to be the strongest,” Raquelle said thoughtfully, watching Harry with awe still. Harry didn’t resent her looking, he knew what it meant to female werewolves now and would gladly bear the discomfort if it helped them to assuage their yearning somewhat.

 

“I expected no less,” Eithne said, removing one of her hands and delving into the pouch attached to her side. When the hand returned, her fingers were covered with a dark, glistening powder. It looked like muggle glitter, Harry thought, a dark gold in colour and shining with the firelight as it was brought up close to his face.

 

“Would you like me to bless you both, child?” Eithne asked him, _him_ rather than Fenrir. He appreciated that in itself, enough to nod his head and accept the uncomfortable tingling that radiated through his skin as the glitter was smudged across his forehead. It was the same upwards, horizontal arch that he dimly recalled Fenrir painting across his skin in blood that night under the moon, Harry was sure of it.

 

“With the oath to shield, shelter and protect,” Eithne began in a voice almost otherworldly. At first the blessing seemed to be an echo of what Fenrir had once whispered to him in a much more intimate setting, but then it seemed to change slightly. “The spirits of our blood, both living and dead watch over you,” the woman continued, painting a glittering arc over each of his cheeks. “Deliver to us both of you in good health and strength.” An identical arc graced his flesh just above his navel.

 

Harry's skin was tingling hotly, but not unpleasantly under the glittering marks now and he felt on odd, tiny fluttering, like butterfly wings in his stomach. He blinked and then Eithne’s hand pushed his shirt aside to cover the skin above his heart with the glistening concoction. He wanted to ask what was in it, but he didn’t know if speaking ruined the ritual blessing. His hands gripped the arms of the chair as the tingling intensified. It wasn’t painful but it was startling. He gasped. That fluttering feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone either.

 

Then at last, a final mark was dragged around to encircle his mating mark. “Go forward with this blessing of life and find joy.” With that Eithne stepped back, taking her seat again in the chair opposite. Harry stared at her. He still felt the tingling. It was so hot now that he reached up to check if his skin was burning, but before he could touch it, Fenrir caught his wrist.

 

“Let me finish the blessing,” he muttered, kneeling in front of him. Harry just nodded, not knowing what else to do. Everyone was still watching him and now Fenrir was leaning up, licking the powder from his forehead and his cheeks. Harry stiffened as the wolf moved lower, those azure eyes locked with his as the man’s mouth hovered over his stomach. It wasn’t sexual in the slightest yet still embarrassing. But here was Fenrir, silently asking for permission to continue and that notion in itself made Harry give the slightest of nods.

 

A wet, hot tongue cleaned his stomach too, before Fenrir moved up to touch his lips to his throat. “And I will be with you both, always,” the alpha said, low but clear, completing the ritual by lapping away the last mark and sitting back.

 

The tingling in Harry's skin was gone now, as was the light outside. While Harry stared at Fenrir who remained kneeling at his feet, Eithne stood and began lighting the lamps to bring some more light to the room. Harry did not realise until later, when his mind was clear, that she had confirmed his suspicions that she was a witch by lighting the lanterns with a wand.

 

“Well done, both of you,” she said as she brought a large lamp over to the table that sat near the chairs, but Harry did not look at her, could not look away from Fenrir, even as the woman continued to speak. “From what I felt and sensed, your child is in good health. Small, but then as I recall all werewolf cubs are. I can tell you what I know about my son’s births if you like my boy and that may help you even further?”

 

Harry did realise she was speaking to him, but it was a distant knowledge, one he did not act on. He watched as Fenrir seemed to mull something over in his mind, seemed to be verging on speech before he looked down to Harry's stomach and winced. He reached forwards, fastening Harry's shirt back up before getting to his feet.

 

“That stuff tastes like crap, Eithne,” he griped.

 

“The most beneficial magic always tastes the worst,” the old woman said with a smile. “It’s the same recipe as the batch I made with your father’s mother for _your_ blessing.”

 

Fenrir nodded, making his way over to the door. “Marrok, stay with Harry while me and Raquelle sort out business,” he ordered and without a single glance back, he headed out the door, Raquelle close behind.

 

Harry stared at the door, shocked, angry and confused. Pulling his shirt back closed around himself, he focused on fastening the buttons once more to put off the moment when he would have to meet the eyes of those remaining in the room. Not only did he feel awkward after what had just happened, humiliated and a little lost that Fenrir had just abandoned him after such an invasive act but also…

 

He winced. A pang of jealousy lanced his chest on watching Raquelle disappear after him. He didn’t like it, especially as he knew his feelings had no foundation. He liked the severity of which it bothered him even less. Maybe it _was_ hormones or instincts. Why else would he care?

 

“He’s quite taken with you, my grandson,” Eithne said with a smile after a long silence. Harry wanted to snort at that, but politeness helped him to remain quiet. Eithne glanced to the now closed door Fenrir and Raquelle had left through, looking thoughtful as she spoke. “Had he not responsibilities of protector to attend to, I doubt he would leave your side.”

 

Harry blinked at her, lost for words. And with the next words to leave her mouth, he swore she was reading his mind.

 

“He is strengthening the magic that protects the borders,” she explained. It was likely meant as a reassurance to the jealousy that was apparently obvious on Harry’s face, but it only inspired more confusion.

 

Harry’s brow furrowed further. “Why? Haven’t they held for decades?” he asked warily, “Fenrir made it sound like they would last forever. Due to the ritual that was used to create them or something.”

 

Eithne nodded slowly. “They will, but he is strengthening them regardless.” The unspoken ‘why’ lay between them for but a few milliseconds before her aged lips parted in speech once more around an answer. “He thinks he is going to die.”

Harry gasped – or more accurately choked as if a large fist had just closed around his throat. Fenrir thought he was going to die? It was impossible. Losing his parents so young, Harry had always seen life as fragile, always known how easily he could lose someone he loved, but Fenrir… No. To him, Fenrir was invincible somehow. Him and death didn’t fit together in the same sentence.

 

“Because of me?” Harry whispered, more to himself than as a question. A firm hand gripped his shoulder though and Marrok answered him regardless.

 

“No,” he ensured him. “All of our lives are in danger because of Tergarletum, not you. We would have been threatened whether you were here or not. That brute threatens any who could oppose him.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder firmly. “The Alpha feels responsible for this village, for the pack and for you, he feels like he needs to prepare for the worst. Even more so with his instincts running on such a high from your condition.”

 

Harry winced. Fenrir, die? No. He wouldn’t allow it. His muscles bunched to rise from the chair, to follow after the wolf and knock some sense into him, but Eithne had grasped both his hands in hers and stilled him with a peculiar look in her eyes. He’d seen it only a few times in the eyes of Mrs Weasley and Sirius but could not quite give a name to it.

 

“Shae was headstrong and protective, brave like you,” she said with a sad little smile. “It was hard for him to adjust to life as a wolf but he had a long time to adjust, far longer than you’ve had. You remind me a lot of him, I think Fenrir sees him in you as well.”

 

Harry blinked at her, not really knowing what to say to that. He moistened his dry lips again. He was still almost shaking with the thought that by dragging them to Voldemort, he might be bringing Fenrir to his death. “ _Did_ he adjust to it? I mean how did he handle being subject to his instincts and… _getting pregnant_? Giving _birth_?”

 

Eithne nodded. “Yes. He had time to adjust to it all before he had his children of course, which is why things are much more difficult with you.” She glanced down to his stomach and Harry inhaled deeply, as if preparing to step into battle. But she didn’t touch him again.

 

“You will adjust, you will be happy, I think you can feel the possibility to be happy already, can you not?” the old woman asked, her ice-blue eyes penetrating his very thoughts.

 

“I don’t know,” Harry replied hesitantly, feeling unease radiating from the black wolf behind him. His happiness was so important to these people, much more than he’d ever thought it would be when he first awoke in Fenrir’s charge. And he only just realised how important their happiness, their safety and health was to him.

 

“Fenrir was forced to grow up very quickly after seeing his family butchered like cattle before his very eyes,” Eithne said darkly, her voice cracking slightly with bitterness, the same way Fenrir’s did when he spoke about this loss. She squeezed his hands almost painfully tight in her grasp. “He hasn’t been able to express his affection easily since that day, and like you, has feared opening himself up completely lest he lose everything all over again. Can you not see it in his eyes? He fears losing you just as he lost them.”

 

Harry shook his head, pulling his hands gently from hers. “He’s afraid of losing the baby–”

 

“And you think a man as proud and stubborn as him would be walking straight into the trap of He Who Must Not Be Named’shouse, making himself vulnerable for anyone other than someone he truly cared for?” Eithne reasoned, looking at him knowingly for a few moments, before lifting her gaze up to Marrok, silent and still as stone behind Harry. “Fetch me that box from the shelf on the far right, would you Marrok?” she asked, lifting her voice slightly, apparently putting an end to that subject for now.

 

The dark-skinned man obediently brought the box to her, sliding it into her wizened yet steady hands as she pulled her chair closer to Harry before lowering herself into it. “My boy gave me this when his youngest grew out of it,” she said, flicking open the ornate clasps that held the small chest closed. It was about the same size as the dreaded _Monster Book of Monsters_ , only much more inert and handsome in its time-kissed appearance.

 

“I made it for my son when he was born from the softest materials known to wizardkind,” Eithne continued, the firelight making her silver curls glow dazzlingly in the softly lit room. “I repaired it and made it anew when he had Fenrir and now it must pass to you and your little one.” She drew from the chest a folded cloth and gave it a flick to open it up.

 

The fabric fluttered open as if carried by a small breeze, about half the size of a single sheet but light, delicate. Yet somehow Harry could tell it was strong. It was a rich creamy colour and in the top right corner near where Eithne held it, he saw the image of a wolf beautifully embroidered in gold and silver thread. The image glistened in the firelight, with all the ethereal beauty of Fenrir’s fur when he transformed under the moon.

 

Harry stared from the swaddling cloth to its maker, taken aback. He, who had so few things from his parents, so few heirlooms knew how precious something so loved and special must be. “I…I can’t take that,” he began.

 

Eithne shook her head, pressing the re-folded blanket into his hands without preamble. It was softer than vicuna, cashmere and silk all at once but stronger and light but warm all at once as he held it in his hands. This was made with love for Fenrir’s dad (mum, whatever he was considered to be) and now it was coming to him? To the baby inside him he was still so unsure of.

 

“Keep it close to both you and Fenrir over the next few months, then when the babe is born it’ll be able to smell the both of you on it,” she explained, watching him carefully. Before Harry could even begin to protest, she continued. “Now I can tell you what I know about what you can expect. As far as I could tell with Shae, instincts take care of a lot of it for you when the time comes…”

 

*                      *                      *

 

The moon had risen and sunk lower in the dark sky and still Harry had not fallen asleep. Eithne’s cottage had two bedrooms, her own and one that was once Fenrir’s dad’s (mum’s, whatever). The room Harry had stayed in once before, the same room Fenrir had tried to leave him in on that full moon night was where he now rested. Harry was laying on the same bed, staring out of the open shutters into the night sky, illuminated by a hundred stars it seemed.

 

He felt hot again despite wearing only his shirt and so the duvet was only draped over the lower half of his body, resting just on his hip. But the other side of the bed was cold. Raquelle had returned a short while before he’d retired to this room, but Fenrir had not. The house was quiet now, Raquelle and Marrok asleep before the hearth, Eithne in her room and the entire village silently slumbering. Fenrir was still not back.

 

The irrational anger and fear from earlier was rising its ugly head again, spurred by his frustration. Where was he? He didn’t like to think he felt abandoned, it sounded silly but he did. The bastard had said enough times that they were in this together, hadn’t he? But where was he now? With a growl of irritation, Harry grit his teeth, fighting the urge to swing himself out of bed and go looking for him. He wasn’t going to go chasing after him.

 

No sooner had he thought this, however than the slightest sound of movement reached his ears. He stilled, listening hard and a shadow fell over the window, his final warning before Fenrir’s large form hauled itself over the sil. With a low grunt, the man turned and closed the shutters, turning to face him. There was a lamp glowing at the beside that illuminated the room just enough for Harry to see his pensive expression.

 

“Left the window open by means of invitation, pet?” the alpha murmured.

 

Harry scoffed quietly, rolling onto his back but scooting over to the other side, silently letting him know he was ok with sharing the bed. He was more than ok with it, actually. His skin was practically _itching_ with the need to feel that warmth pressed against his own. His chest was tight. He was lonely without Fenrir’s closeness, both mental and physical.

 

After a moment, he felt the bed dip under the man’s weight and Fenrir slid in beside him.

 

Harry's body physically relaxed, he could _just_ feel Fenrir’s heat against his side and yet his mind was still reeling. Moistening his lips, he fought to find words. “You know I’m strong, right?” he settled on at last, staring up at the darkness above them, and the shadowy patterns the single lamp cast on the ceiling. When Fenrir said nothing, he continued. “Wand or no wand, I can do stuff – yes it’s unintentional but it comes when it matters.”

 

Rolling onto his side, Harry sat up slightly to look down at the werewolf’s softly lit face. Those blue eyes was staring up at him, glistening. “You saw what I did at the waterfall that day – I saved you from Radulf and if it comes to it, I’ll do it again,” Harry insisted. “I won’t let _Him_ kill you.” He’d never been particularly loquacious, never really found the right words at the right time but for once his chosen phrasing did as intended. It got a reaction out of Fenrir.

 

The alpha snarled, shoving Harry backwards on the bed, his hands pinning Harry's shoulders to the pillows as he hovered over him. Harry stared back at him, unyielding, not caring that the man was as naked as the day he was born, that didn’t matter now (although he did flush a little). The wolf was angry that his sub felt the need to protect him.

 

“It’s my job to look after you right now,” Fenrir growled huskily, his fingers tightening on Harry's shoulders slightly.

 

“Surely we’re meant to look after each other?” Harry countered in irritation. “You won’t let him touch me and I won’t let him hurt you either, so you have nothing to worry about! Nothing to go moping about in the dark all night. Nothing to make you keep distancing yourself from me!” His voice was harsh and forceful despite its low whispered tone.

 

“We’re not going to charge the manor doors in the name of war tomorrow,” Harry continued, more calmly this time. “We just need him to see me broken, to see that I’m no threat so we have the freedom to go find Ron and Hermione and…make sure the time is right to finish him. I don’t know if Ron and Hermione have…you know, gotten everything ready without me but we can’t make a move to eliminate _Him_ until everything is in place. You just need to show me as some broken, submissive whelp. That’s all.”

 

Fenrir snorted. “ _That’s all,_ ” he repeated bluntly. “The world knows it’s impossible to break you, you’ll have to be a very good actor.”

 

Harry blinked. Somehow that seemed almost like a compliment. “ _We_ will need to be. We’re in this together, aren’t we?” he asked, though the question was stated more like a challenge.

 

Above him, Fenrir leant down to rest his forehead against Harry's. Still staring into his eyes he breathed him in again, drawing in the very breath tumbling over Harry's lips into his own mouth. An indirect kiss that seemed to calm him. His heat made the tightness in Harry's chest ease. But the body above was still tense and anxious, angry at that anxiety among other things. Why didn’t he have the power to alleviate some of that, as Fenrir seemed to with him?

 

Closing his eyes briefly, Harry exhaled slowly. “Nothing is going to happen to us,” he said softly, his voice a barely there whisper. When he opened his eyes again, Fenrir’s stare gripped him.

 

“No,” the wolf said sharply. “It won’t.” He pushed off slightly then to rest back on his heels between Harry's legs, staring down at him without really seeing him – lost to his thoughts. That was until Harry shifted up onto his elbows, the action dragging his shirt up to reveal more than Harry intended. Harry flushed darkly as he saw those ice-blue eyes fix on his body and snapped his legs shut. But it wasn’t his nether regions those eyes were drawn to (for once) and he knew it.

 

Not for the first time that night, he drew in a breath as one might take before diving off a platform or into a battle. It was him that held that gaze unwaveringly this time as he said, “you can touch it if you want.”

 

Those dazzling azure eyes pierced the darkness as they widened. “Why?” the man asked, his voice low and rough as ever.

 

Harry moistened his suddenly dry lips. “Because you want to.”

 

A long pause then; “Why does that matter now?” Fenrir muttered, as if trying to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

 

Harry fought the urge to shuffle back further up the bed, he did however shift his shirt down to give him some more dignity without the need to hold his knees up to his barely convex stomach. “Because even though I didn’t want this-” he grit his teeth. No, that wasn’t the way to start. “I know this wasn’t your fault, neither of you,” he rushed out quickly before Fenrir could interrupt. “I know that but I’ve been acting like it is, been punishing you and _it_ – I’ve been an arsehole. Despite the fact that every inch of you is screaming _not_ to take me to _Him_ you’re doing it anyway because I asked. Fair is fair.”

 

It took a while for Fenrir to process his words it seemed. As the words slowly dawned on him, his eyes visibly studied Harry’s face and then his concealed stomach in turn. Harry thought he might argue still but was surprised when the man shifted, glancing up a final time as if for ultimate permission before letting his large hot palm rest on Harry's stomach.

 

Harry could feel his heat through the cloth of his shirt and stiffened, partly because someone was touching him intimately for the first time in months but also because that heat sent a little ripple of pleasure through his skin. The warmth of another body made his belly tingle. It wasn’t just the… _the baby_ either. His eyes fluttered closed and he drew in a quick breath. He’d thought he could bear this, he was wrong. He could do more than that. Despite his remaining issues, despite the uneasiness that swept through him even now at being touched, he’d missed it.

 

After a moment or two passed like this, both of them silent, Harry moistened his dry lips again, staring up at Fenrir uncertainly from under his lashes. He was unnerved by the man’s lack of speech. Normally he was almost painfully expressive, now he was unreadable. “It’s not very big,” Harry said, wondering if that was the cause for the silence and the curious contemplation on that rugged face.

 

At last those eyes snapped to him and he thought he saw the barest flicker of a smile reflected there. A knowing smile that never quite reached those lips. “It won’t be,” Fenrir murmured. “You won’t get noticeably big, and the cub will be born small but strong, that’s always the way.” His large hand splayed a little more then, moving slightly as those eyes focussed on Harry's. “I’m encouraged that you’re concerned,” he said simply.

 

Harry frowned, but anything he was about to say was cut short by Fenrir’s words.

 

“And I like that you missed me.”

 

That frown intensified into a scowl, but there was no menace behind it and Fenrir must have sensed that, for he leant down to press his forehead against Harry's own. His hand remained on his stomach, rubbing in soft, barely there gestures. He stared into Harry's eyes that refused to surrender and look away. “I can sense it. There’s no shame in admitting it, you know. There’s no one to hear you but me.”

 

_That’s the bloody point!_ Harry thought, not knowing what to do. What had happened still made him flinch when he thought about it. He hadn’t wanted this, didn’t know how to feel about the growing warmth he felt toward the precious thing Fenrir’s hand was touching so gently. But he’d never felt such bliss inside him, so safe or wanted as he did now.

 

Screwing his eyes shut for courage, Harry snarled in answer, shoving his head up and wrapping his arms around Fenrir’s neck. He slammed his lips to Fenrir’s, a feral grunt reverberating from his tongue and into that mouth as it opened to greet him.

 

It felt far too submissive, far too _pathetic_ to simply lie there and admit it. He would show him. He would abolish the meek creature he had been for the last few weeks from both of their memories. He was stronger than that. He had to be.

 

Grunting again into the kiss, he tugged roughly on the man’s hair, demanding and fierce in his claiming of that mouth. Fenrir growled back, his large hands seizing Harry’s face and pulling him up higher into their embrace. His own tongue lapped hungrily at Harry’s like a man starved, his teeth grazing the tip and Harry’s mouth until the young man felt it grow hot and swollen against those stubble-framed lips.

 

“Oh, you missed me alright,” Fenrir murmured huskily, dragging his mouth down to suck and bite Harry’s jaw, even as Harry fought to capture him in another kiss. When Fenrir’s hands slid up to knot in Harry's hair to hold him still, allowing him to taste the fleshy lobe of Harry’s ear. Harry shoved him back, hard on the bed until they were both upright.

 

 

 

Fenrir almost felt himself salivating at the sight of him. His eyes were bright in the darkness, his lips and face flushed and his body shaking slightly with his ragged breath. He wanted him so badly, a desire that was intensified by the defiance burning harshly in those eyes. The same kind of flame that had danced there when he had first seen him bleeding to death at Voldemort’s feet.

 

He almost laughed to himself then. If Voldemort thought _anyone_ could break this boy, he was a fool. He would die before he ever bowed under another’s will, before he surrendered. At that thought, Fenrir made to lunge to grab him again but Harry’s glare intensified and he held him back at arm’s length.

 

“You can tease me,” Harry began slowly, “You can chase me, you can even fuck me, but I’m not the submissive whippet that Conall and the others think I am. I won’t lay back and just accept your will. If you ever try to make me into something I’m not, you’ll never touch me again.” His voice was calm and low, but full of menacing threat. It was a threat that made Fenrir’s wolf howl with dread inside him.

 

After a few moments of silence, Harry’s hands lost their force where they had been holding him back at his shoulders and slid down slowly. As they fell, Fenrir caught them both and hauled him close until Harry was straddling his thighs. Their noses were but a scant centimetre apart and those green eyes stared down at him cautiously, as if uncertain how he would answer.

 

“I’ve never wanted you to be what those mutts wanted,” Fenrir grunted. “The only thing I wanted to change was to make you accept and take what you want for once in your bloody life, to put yourself first and let someone else be the hero. To let me provide and protect as I swore to do under the moon–”

 

“Is that all?” Harry muttered with a hint of sarcasm, pushing half-heartedly to escape Fenrir’s embrace. But when Fenrir released him immediately, Harry looked surprised and did not move from where he knelt in the man’s lap.

 

Fenrir smirked, but his tone was deadly serious when his hands traced the lean muscle at the back of the boy’s thighs and he murmured, “Aside from that, there’s nothing I would change.” His fingers slipped up just under the hem of the boy’s long shirt, claws scraping his buttocks gently. “I want you as you are with the cheek, the pride and the shitty attitude – all of it. It’s all mine – _you_ are mine.”

 

He could not help but notice the shudder than ran up his mate’s spine at that point. He grinned in the darkness and chased the spasm with the very tips of his claws, caressing the sinewy muscles of Harry’s back and taking his shirt (the final barrier between their flesh) with it. He tugged it off the boy’s head before leaning in and claiming that mouth with a kiss of his own, just as demanding and possessive but this time slower, full of need.

 

Harry groaned, welcoming his tongue beyond his lips. His fingers curled into fists, clawing at Fenrir’s chest as his body arched forward into him, before sagging as if in relief in his embrace. Their lips still locked, Fenrir growled softly as he teased that tongue, earning a small almost-purr from that mouth. He grazed those lips and that chin with his own lips, that jaw, the soft curve of an ear.

 

“Don’t starve me of you like that again,” Fenrir grunted in his ear, nipping the lobe before dropping bristly, hungry kisses down the column of Harry's throat. His fingers scraped those buttocks as his teeth mimicked the motion over Harry's collarbone. Harry tensed and not entirely in arousal. Pausing in the perusal of his mate’s flesh, Fenrir drew back a fraction to meet those eyes questioningly. He smelled fear.

 

“I don’t know if I can…” Harry began quietly, chewing the inside of his mouth in an attempt to mask his anxiety. “Not _that_ anyway, not …” He shuddered, but when he shifted as if to slide back off Fenrir’s thighs, Fenrir held him tight. Harry added, “It reminds me of…well, you know.”

 

Fenrir stared up at him in a rare thoughtful moment. He had to be so cautious with Harry sometimes, it was still quite novel to him, having to think before his spoke, having to consider another’s feelings. “The wolf and I are the same, but one is driven purely by instinct rather than... _consideration_ for you,” he winced as he struggled to find that word and saw Harry raise a brow as if he _knew_ what word he was about to say.

 

“I know,” Harry said quietly, putting his hands on Fenrir’s shoulders but not pushing away again – not yet. “I know you wouldn’t have done that to me, not without my consent anyway. I _do_ realise that, you know.”

 

Fenrir wanted to scratch the back of his neck to hide his awkwardness. Those green eyes were dazzling in the darkness and staring down into his very soul. Like no one had before. “So I won’t fuck you–”

 

“Not _yet_ ,” Harry said quickly, seeming uncharacteristically concerned about that.

 

Fenrir smirked. “No, not until I earn it – or the wolf does, however you want to see it. Doesn’t mean I can’t show you some _consideration_.” He punctuated his sentence by wrapping his arms around his mate’s waist and rolling them both until Harry's shoulders were flat on the bed, his arse in the air and exposed to Fenrir’s gaze. Harry froze, his lips parting to protest but before he could manage a sound, that hot mouth was on his neglected hole.

 

Heated breath dusted his tight right, making it spasm frantically. Harry hissed hungrily, unknowingly shoving his arse back and tightening his fingers into the sheets. His legs tensed and his toes curled. God he’d missed this, missed _him_. As if sensing his thoughts, Fenrir rewarded him with a little flicker of the top of his tongue against his rim. Harry was so relieved that what had happened hadn’t ruined sex for him entirely that he felt everything heightened.

 

“Shit!” Harry cursed, a deep heat coiling in the pit of his belly like a serpent. “ _More_!” The sound was a deep guttural groan that earned him another flicker of that wicked tongue. He panted, canting his hips just so to grind back into that mouth. This was all him, he had the control. Fenrir’s fingers were brushing his sides, leaving him plenty of opportunity to struggle away if he wanted to. But _he_ was deciding not to. This wasn’t the wolf above him, it wasn’t Greyback, it was Fenrir and Harry was leaking already. The scent made Fenrir growl against him. Harry growled back in answer, revelling in the sensation of surrendering to his base instincts.

 

They didn’t have to care about should-haves, pride or morals. When they were this close to their instincts, nothing else mattered. It felt good and he wanted to seize it. He didn’t want to push it away because he was afraid. He wanted to hold it with both hands and ride it out.

 

Two deliciously rough hands spread his cheeks wider for better access, permitting that tongue to stab at his now fluttering opening. The thought of a cock back there fucking him made him uneasy, made him remember _that night_ , but this wasn’t fucking – this was all out worship.

 

A low, husky whine shuddered through his throat this time and he lifted his hips off the bed just enough, tilting them a fraction until Fenrir obeyed his unvoiced request. A rough hand slid under him, cupping his balls, rolling them gently as those large fingers tugged and kneaded the base of his cock.

 

The friction was delicious, tugging his foreskin back with each movement. All the while that tongue fought to taste him, deeper, harder, pushing inside just enough to make Harry cry out again. The wicked slapping and slurping on his arse made him throb in Fenrir’s expert hand. He reached down, taking control and covering Fenrir’s hand with his own and urging him faster, unable to voice his desires coherently. Together they massaged his length, squeezed and caressed his tight, heavy bollocks until the copious pre-cum was slicking their strokes.

 

Harry's head rolled on his shoulders as he found himself humping his and Fenrir’s joined hands frantically. The man was being too tentative, too considerate, too soft. It wasn’t enough. “M-More! Want to – feel you–” His words cut short by the feral snarl of lust that tugged from his lips. With that, Fenrir lunged, rolling them to the side until he was flat on his back, Harry astride his hips. He scraped those hips teasingly with his claws and grinded his erection up into Harry's eagerly.

 

Harry grunted, digging his fingertips into Fenrir’s arms as he rolled his hips hard and fast, rubbing his organ into the wolf’s throbbing length. He hadn’t really been aroused since that night, hadn’t even thought of it really and now he was about to burst from the word go. Fenrir’s hands helped him maintain the frantic, heady rhythm. Sweat beaded across Harry's forehead, making his fringe stick to his flesh as his prick oozed evidence of his pleasure.

 

Now slick with pre-come, their lengths slid together deliciously, the exposed pink tip of Harry's organ pressing into Fenrir’s fraenulum on every stroke until Fenrir grit his teeth and growled out into the darkness. “Oh, pet you’d turn any man into a beast,” he snarled, reaching up to grasp those shoulders, tugging Harry down so he could devour those flushed lips.

 

Harry panted against him at that. Fenrir seemed to like kissing him enough but it was hardly his favourite thing (human as it was) – now he was snogging him as hard as a desperate teenager. It felt so good, so normal, such a delicious replica of what he’d wanted for so long.

 

Large fingers knotted in his hair, tugging him hard into the kiss. Harry rolled his hips harder, giving a little jerk at the end of each thrust, tugging his foreskin back and pressing under the helmet of Fenrir’s cock _just right_ simultaneously. “S’nice,” Harry groaned breathlessly, tipping his head back to gasp for air and shudder as that mouth sucked hungrily at his throat. He would bruise all over from those kisses but he didn’t care. He _wanted_ it. All over.

 

Fenrir’s other hand slid down his back to grip his arse, helping him press their hips tighter together. Harry winced but only briefly – Fenrir had promised he wouldn’t, he didn’t break promises. Holding that knowledge at the forefront of his mind he pushed back off Fenrir, supporting himself on his arms either side of those shoulders to better pump his hips into that delicious slick friction.

 

“So bloody good!” he growled out, his skin tingling all over from the heat and sweat. He opened his eyes he didn’t remember closing and saw Fenrir in a similar state. His eyes were glowing gold though and his teeth were bared as he snarled out his pleasure, his fingers digging into Harry's thighs as hard as he could without drawing blood. He was staring up at Harry with that ethereal gaze, so hungry, so sexy that Harry's already swollen hardness _throbbed_ warningly.

 

Sparks of heat ignited between their cocks with every thrust now. Harry glanced down and felt his belly clench at the delicious sight. Both of them red and swollen and fit to burst, sliding so perfectly together. Their bodies contorted against one another and Harry gave a deep, long groan as his cock caught just under the head, just right on Fenrir’s tip. He froze and his back arched, his eyes closed. A thick oozing wetness dribbled from his prick. He was about to come and Fenrir was positively feral beneath him.

 

“You smell so fucking good!” Fenrir roared, reaching down and grasping their lengths together. A devilish slick sound punctuated his movements as he squeezed and jerked their them, hard and fast. Harry panted, leaking like a stream and rocking frantically into that hand.

 

“Gonna come!” he gasped raggedly, the muscles in his legs and arse tensing so hard they _hurt._ His toes curled and his belly flipped as his body shook with spasms. He fucked Fenrir’s cock and fist at once, a continuous groan shuddering through his lips. It felt like liquid fire was coursing through the pulsing veins in his cock. “Come with me! Want – _need…_!”

 

Fenrir reared up then, capturing his hand and their cocks between their bellies. He squeezed a few more times, snatching Harry's mouth with his own and devouring the sound of his climax as Harry burst up across both of their torsos. It was him this time that knotted his fingers in Fenrir’s hair at the base of his neck, holding their kiss and swiping his tongue against his teeth as he rode out the tide of electrifying bliss, rolling his hips through the aftershocks.

 

His cock was still pulsing when he felt Fenrir reach his peak. He grinded hard into the wolf’s cock and caught that lip between his teeth in a sharp burst of hunger, sending his mate tumbling over the edge. Fenrir gripped him hard, tugging their sweaty bodies back to the bed, Harry lying limply atop Fenrir’s collapsed form. Their chests heaved breathlessly and Harry was so far out of it that he jumped slightly when Fenrir’s hand smoothed his damp fringe back from his forehead.

 

“Sorry,” Harry murmured tiredly as he tipped his head back to look up, barely able to form coherent words, “spaced out a bit there.” Fenrir was staring down at him as if thoughtful. Not knowing what else to say to that expression, Harry lay his head back down, listening to the sound of the wolf’s heart gradually slowing down to normal. “Was good,” he murmured against that slightly damp skin, closing his eyes as he waited for his own breathing and heart rate to slow again. _I’ve missed it,_ he thought, not daring to speak it aloud. _I’ve missed feeling close to him._

“Mmm,” Fenrir agreed huskily, rolling them slightly so that Harry was on his side and Fenrir was spooned against his back. Harry stretched leisurely at the feel of that nose pressing at the nape of his neck, sniffing him. His head was rested on Fenrir’s arm, the hand on which was just brushing through his hair slowly. He was about to close his eyes again when he felt his mate’s other hand glide over his hip to rest flat on his naked belly.

 

Fenrir didn’t ask permission this time. Fenrir Greyback was not the kind of man to ask permission, that he had earlier was no mean feat; now it seemed he knew it was unnecessary. They’d gone past that. Harry wasn’t afraid of him or of acknowledging what grew beneath his palm either, not really. He was scared to death but that didn’t make it go away in the end, he knew that. He couldn’t avoid the issue any longer.

 

_And Fenrir feels so happy,_ he thought, the warmth practically radiating from that hand on his stomach. He stretched leisurely, pressing back into the heat of Fenrir’s body. The nose at the back of his neck nuzzled in closer, drinking in his scent.

 

“You smell better when you’re happy – well, _happier_ ,” Fenrir murmured into his hair, his hand moving in the slightest of circles on his bare stomach. Beneath it, a small fluttering sensation swelled. They both froze. Harry flushed darkly and shifted awkwardly.

 

“Errr, sorry,” he said, “I ate a lot earlier and… Well you’re a bloke too–!”

 

“It’s not wind you prat it’s the cub – can’t you tell the difference?” Fenrir cut across him, his voice coarse but low in his ear as he leant up slightly to look down at where his hand lay on Harry’s stomach. “Maybe it senses you’re in a good mood for a change,” he mused.

 

Harry snorted, lowering his own hand tentatively to rest alongside Fenrir’s. “This is weird,” he muttered, the odd fluttering movement shifting under his own palm now too. “If I weren’t so tired I’d run screaming for the hills.” He was only part joking. The way Fenrir’s palm tensed beside his told him that he knew it.

 

 

 

“I’d chase after you,” Fenrir growled softly, “There’s nowhere you can run to that I wouldn’t follow.” He paused a moment, sliding his fingers down a fraction on Harry's stomach to entwine them with Harry's own. The smaller man froze for a moment before relaxing again. He could _smell_ the blush suffusing those cheeks with colour and smirked against the back of the boy’s neck.

 

“I know it must be odd, seeing as you only knew this was possible a few months ago – given everything else that’s weighing on your shoulders but you’ll be alright.” He pressed in tight against Harry's back, sniffing him again. “When all this shit with _Him_ is done, we’ll only have ourselves to please.”

 

There was a small silence, then…

 

“I don’t think I know what would please me anymore,” Harry murmured, quiet and confused but Fenrir swore his fingers tightened around Fenrir’s on his stomach.

 

Fenrir nestled into his neck again, fighting the urge to lick him and instead placing a reassuring kiss on the soft arch of a honey-hued shoulder. The human gesture made Harry turn his head to meet his eyes. “I know we didn’t get the best start, but having a home, a family of your own, wouldn’t that please you?” he asked. His free arm was looped under Harry's neck at the perfect angle for the hand not on Harry's stomach to caress his sweaty hair. “I don’t expect an answer yet, don’t worry,” he mused. “You’re not the only seventeen year old not to know what he wants.”

 

At this, Harry's eyes glistened. “I don’t find it hard to imagine a bad tempered, troubled, hormonal teenage Fenrir Greyback terrorising the countryside,” he chuckled. “I hope our child is better adjusted than both of us.”

 

Fenrir’s eyes widened a fraction and he rolled Harry a little more to face him, not removing his other hand from his stomach. He could feel it, just there, the small fluttering movements were continuing, as if the little creature within were fidgeting with elation that Harry had acknowledged it.

 

“Our child, you’ve never said that before,” Fenrir almost whispered. Those green eyes stared into his for a long time.

 

“I suppose I haven’t,” Harry said, apparently not knowing what else to say. Those eyes softened and trust emanated from them as they never had before. Harry trusted him. It was enough to enable him to allow the subject on Harry's choice of words go, for now. But much later he would realise just how trustworthy Harry must have deemed him, for what his mate revealed next was quite obviously the most important secret he carried. And one he had been harbouring alone for months.

 

“Look,” Harry began, “tomorrow, when we face _Him_ , there’s a few things you should know.” He looked up at Fenrir, no hesitation in his voice or face. “How much do you know about Horcruxes?”

 

After the explanation he would realise that despite everything, Harry trusted him, implicitly – completely.

 

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	14. Gates to Hell

A/N: I don't think I've put this in anywhere yet (if I have, sorry for the repetition) but anyway, what the werewolves call Voldemort, _Tergarletum_ isderived from the latin “ _Letum_ ” meaning death, ruin, annihilation and “ _Terga dare_ ” to flee, retreat, run away. As far as I'm aware, I made this up, no sue, no borrowing/stealing without permission ;)

 

Thank you again to every single reader and reviewer, you're what keeps me going and makes even the rubbish days a little brighter. I'm so thrilled to be sharing this story with you all. Please enjoy!

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

.: Chapter Fourteen :.

Gates to Hell

 

 

 

A soft, shaky exhalation of anxious anticipation shuddered over his lips as he stared across the dark countryside towards their goal. A gathering of dark clouds had eclipsed the moon and stars completely. It unnerved him how suffocated he felt now without them shining down on his skin. Was that because he was part wolf now? Perhaps it was simply because he was so used to feeling them above him, having spent a lot of nights under them in the last few months.

 

It felt like his mind _itched_ as they moved across the dark grass toward their destination. He’d never really appreciated the fact that Fenrir’s connection to him blocked Voldemort’s intrusions until now. He could sense him trying to access him, but it was never more than this irritating prickle – even his dreams had been safe.

 

“Once we step foot in there, none of us will be safe,” he murmured under his breath. Marrok who was walking close to him, nudged him gently with his shoulder in reassurance.

 

“If there’s one person who _is_ safe, I reckon it’s you,” he said, glancing to Fenrir and Raquelle who walked just in front of them. “There’s no way anything is happening to you, don’t worry.”

 

“I’m not worried about myself,” Harry retorted.

 

Fenrir grunted. “You should do, whatever happens to you happens to our cub.”

 

Harry flinched a little at the admonishment, but Marrok nudged him again and stepped into line with Raquelle so that Fenrir could drop back to his side with some privacy. Fenrir’s big knuckles brushed softly over the side of Harry's stomach, before caressing the back of Harry's hand briefly.

 

It was so dark. He was thankful for his heightened senses or else he’d probably have fallen arse over head by now. He was so far and away from how he’d awoken this morning, Fenrir nuzzling every crook and dip of his body as the sun streamed in through the window onto them both. He’d arched up and welcomed the brush of stubble, hot breath and firm mouth to each part of him, relaxed and warm.

 

Now he glanced up to Fenrir as they walked, heat dusting his cheeks as he recalled them both coming to completion in each other’s mouths. “If you make sure we all get out of this alive, I’ll let you have my arse again,” he breathed. He wasn’t quite sure why he said it, he just had this horrible, nagging feeling that they weren’t all going to come out of this unscathed.

 

Fenrir’s knuckles brushed over his fingers now. He chuckled softly. “Hmm, inspiration indeed.” They weren’t far now. Malfoy Manor was just ahead, the great wrought iron fence standing tall, dark and foreboding like the gates to hell. “Don’t worry, alright?” Fenrir said when they were only a few feet from the gates. “You just focus on playing the part of a submissive broken prisoner, you’ll need to make it good, pet.”

 

Harry nodded, swallowing hard. “Remember, we can’t kill him today, even if we get the opportunity. I don’t know how many horcruxes Hermione and Ron managed to get without me. I need to be sure they’re all gone before we attack him head on, this is purely about convincing him I’m broken so we have the freedom to go find my friends, alright?”

 

Fenrir said nothing, but Harry knew he was listening. “And you’ll need to play the part of my cruel, beast of a captor, you’ll need to be convincing no matter what he does.”

 

They stopped at the gates and Harry inhaled deeply again before shrugging off his (Fenrir’s) cloak and handing it to him. Fenrir fastened it around his own neck with an odd look in his eyes as Harry stripped out of the rest of his clothing. Raquelle shoved them in the small pouch at her waist as Harry shivered, the cool English evening whipping at his exposed skin. He could sense Fenrir’s unease, his irritation that this had to be done, especially this way but they had agreed it was necessary in order to paint the picture of a submissive prisoner.

 

Once Harry was naked, his skin prickled with goosebumps from the cold and yet flushed with humiliation. He noticed Marrok and Raquelle avoided looking at him in an attempt to make this easier on him and for that he was silently thankful. He grit his teeth, fighting the urge to cover himself with his hands. Especially his stomach, which felt even more vulnerable than his cold genitals at the moment.

 

It appeared Fenrir needed a moment to steel himself for what must be done, to fight the urge to wrap himself around him, for it took him a while to act. At last, Fenrir raised his hand to wrap it round the back of his neck. He caressed his skin there gently with his thumb before tightening his grip. “I can be a beast for you, pet,” Fenrir growled softly, “don’t you worry.” With that, a dark figure appeared at the gate on the opposite side. Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry noted and immediately bowed his head so that his hair hung into his eyes, the perfect symbol of submission.

 

“Let me in wench or you’ll regret making me wait on the doorstep so long,” Fenrir snarled. Harry thought he sensed the fear emanating from beyond the gate, but there was only the briefest of hesitations before they swung open with a foreboding squeak. Fenrir’s grip on his neck urged him forward. He felt Marrok just behind him and Raquelle at his side. There was no turning back now.

 

Bellatrix lead them down the impossibly long dark path toward the manor house that loomed ahead. The ground crunched underfoot, the same way Harry's bones had crunched under the torture of Voldemort and his followers only a few short months ago – only to be healed to make way for the next torment. He winced as he followed Fenrir, Raquelle and Marrok behind him, guarding him from all sides. He was walking willingly into that agony again. He’d all-but forgotten it until he’d stepped through those gates but now…now he was afraid.

 

There were dim lights in the lower windows of Malfoy Manor, staring down at them as they approached like beady, knowing eyes. It made Harry shiver as they reached the threshold of the open front doors carved from heavy dark wood. He couldn’t help himself, he hesitated on the doorstep and Bellatrix turned as he did so. Before she could say a word, however, Fenrir reached back and gripped the back of his neck in his great hand.

 

“Keep moving, boy,” he barked gruffly, reminding Harry painfully of Uncle Vernon. He flinched inwardly, his gut clenching, but betrayed none of this and instead kept his head bowed, his eyes on the floor and followed the pressure of Fenrir’s insistent hand. Somehow it was easier with Fenrir’s heat on his skin, safer. He swore he felt that strange little flutter in his stomach from yesterday morning.

 

_Shit,_ he cursed as he felt the unsettling hum of Voldemort’s presence through the doors ahead. It was on him now, panic as thick as solids caught in his throat. He swallowed desperately and walked a fraction closer to Fenrir’s side. He was afraid, he wasn’t stupid enough to think he wasn’t, especially not after what happened last time he was here. _Just let us get out of this alive._ That was his last thought as they moved from the lightless foyer into a large hall, the same room he had last spilt his blood in before Fenrir’s rescue.

 

It was a great expanse of marble and wood filled with over two dozen bodies, including Voldemort himself who sat in a throne-like high-backed dining chair at the head of the room, watching their approach. The death eaters all had their hoods drawn back out of the way, they felt no need to hide – that was good. They assumed he was broken after months with Fenrir Greyback, who wouldn’t with his reputation?

 

Harry just about caught the flash of all three Malfoys, a few other familiar faces. Inwardly snarling, he forced the impassive, broken mask into place for all to see. He followed the pressure of Fenrir’s hand until it pushed him firmly to his knees at the werewolf’s feet where he’d stopped. He felt Raquelle and Marrok at their backs and every pair of eyes in the room focussed on the back of his head. When Fenrir’s hand finally left the back of his neck, Harry's chest twitched with an involuntary, minute whine.

 

Voldemort heard it.

 

“The Great Harry Potter,” he exhaled in his piercing hiss of a voice. Harry could practically _hear_ his teeth gritting together in a malicious smile. “The Chosen One, here at my feet, naked, whining like a mongrel.” A sinister laugh punctuated his words. “And they said Potter could never be broken.” He turned his attention on Fenrir then, his conduct morphing into that false camaraderie he usually adopted with the alpha wolf.

 

“Swollen with your litter, as promised, Greyback, I’m impressed with his subdued appearance. And judging from the marks on him you have enjoyed him greatly.” Harry tensed, he couldn’t help it, not when he now knew those eyes were perusing his nakedness knowingly, seeing the lovebites and light bruises left on his skin from the night before. He swore the mating mark at his throat burned under their gazes.

 

“Seems he is a little shy, however,” Voldemort noted at his flinch, sitting forward on his so-called throne. “Still not adjusted to his place, Greyback?”

 

“It doesn’t matter what he’s adjusted to, he does as he’s told when I tell him to. He spreads his legs like a good bitch and that’s what matters to me – the evidence is obvious, isn’t it?” Fenrir said gruffly from somewhere above Harry. Though his roughness may have convinced everyone else in the room, Harry felt the tremor of fury running through each word.

“Indeed,” Voldemort almost purred with evil delight. Harry heard him sit forward a bit more. His own fingers tensed where they lay on his thighs, which tightened together and his toes curled. He knew what the bastard was about to say before the word even left his pallid lips.

 

“Show me, Harry,” he breathed with feigned affability.

 

Harry's breath froze in his lungs. It went against every fibre of his nature to do so. The instinct to hide his slowly growing stomach made him curl in on himself a fraction. A pleading whine fought to leave his lips on impulse but he bit it back, swallowing it hard along with the bile that had risen in his throat, burning it savagely. He had to hide it, it wasn’t safe. The flutter in his stomach startled breath into his lungs but he did not move. _Not safe._

Suddenly, a bone-chilling hiss filled the room that came from neither him nor Voldemort. Movement caught the corner of his eye and he could not help but glance up a fraction, only to find the great scaly body of Nagini sliding into sight from behind the chair Voldemort sat on. She reared her head at the sight of Harry and slid forward. Instantly, a thrum of recognition reverberated through his bones so powerfully that Harry thought he felt his ribs rattling.

 

She was a horcrux. He just knew it somehow. The knowledge brought him back from his instinct to cower and hide his belly, hide his vulnerability. She was only a few feet from him – he had to kill her!

 

Dampening his suddenly dry lips with a flicker of his tongue, Harry slowly rose up onto the balls of his knees. Letting his arms fall down subtly to hide his private area as best he could without arousing suspicion, he kept his eyes down even as he raised his head, showing Voldemort what he wanted to see. He had to play his part if he wanted to get close enough to kill the snake.

 

“Very nice,” Voldemort muttered with perverted pleasure in his awkwardness, rising to his feet. Harry took pride in the fact that he didn’t flinch, although he swore he felt Fenrir, Raquelle and Marrok all shift slightly beside him.

 

“Our little catamite is most protective of your progeny,” Voldemort noted, still watching Harry closely but addressing Fenrir. Harry could sense the growl that longed to rumble past his mate’s lips, but the wolf grunted his agreement regardless. Voldemort chuckled softly at some unspoken private joke before adding, “I think he cares for it a great deal. I think it would break him for good to see it lying dead on his lap.”

 

Harry shot to his feet, but before he could even glance back to Fenrir, a snarl of fury rumbled through the room. Voldemort gave a hiss of a laugh. “Come now, Fenrir, you can easily make more. From the look of his body you quite enjoy the practice.” A few death eaters laughed nervously along with Voldemort, seemingly uncertain which of the two they feared more, him or Fenrir Greyback.

 

“He’s mine and the cub in his belly is mine. Don’t mistake my presence here for submission,” Fenrir growled darkly. “I upheld my part of the bargain, you’ve seen him, now I’ll leave.”

 

At this Voldemort started forward, appearing immediately in front of Harry, who flinched back, but not quick enough. One of Voldemort’s long-fingered hands gripped his wrist, while the other skirted over his bared belly. Harry whined sharply, writhing frantically and his pack mates froze, understanding how quickly those hands could end things for Harry and the infant inside him – before they even reached him, even close as they were.

 

“Oh, Harry, I knew you had some fight left, I can _feel_ it,” Voldemort crooned, tipping his head to the side to survey Harry’s feral expression. Teeth bared, Harry snapped at thin air in warning, growling like a beast. The lights in the room flickered ominously. Voldemort smirked. “Did you enjoy spreading your trembling thighs for the most murderous werewolf in England, Potter? He’s killed more than even myself, you know?”

 

The hand on his belly dug in, nails piercing his flesh and Harry screamed, part fury part despair. The sound reverberated through the room, signalling his distress to his pack. He felt Fenrir surge behind him and chaos erupted. Green and red wand light burst across the room in every direction. A roar that made the floor shake sounded and every hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of familiar silver fur.

 

“I killed your parents, Harry and I will make you watch as I kill your child before I rip out your heart and feed it to your pet wolf. Punishment for all of the trouble you have caused me.” His nails lengthened magically and dug deeper into his flesh. The sharp hiss of Nagini just behind her master was the final piercing blow and Harry screamed again, blazing white light exploding from his body.

 

Voldemort was thrown back, flying through the air and slamming hard into the throne he had made for himself, the impact smashing it to pieces. A blood-chilling howl made Harry whirl shakily on his feet, blood weeping down his stomach to find a wolf Fenrir ripping into the flesh of a robed death eater to try and reach him. How had the gap between Harry and his pack grown so much in a few scarce seconds? A sea of panicked death eaters separated them now.

 

He shuddered, feeling the cold of the stone room as his instincts made panic rise in his throat like lava. He needed to get to his alpha, he needed to make his cub safe…

 

Suddenly, Harry froze. The air around him changed a fraction, a low woosh sounded above the din of violence and he _felt_ something coming straight for him. He turned again, just quick enough to see a flash of hauntingly familiar green light _just_ miss him. The killing curse struck the death eater close behind him instead, sending him crumpling to the floor as Harry faced the caster. Bellatrix was seething, practically foaming at the mouth where she stood a few feet in front of where Voldemort was finding his feet (apparently more damaged by Harry's freak spell than it first seemed), like a loyal pit-bull.

 

For the first time since that day in the Ministry, where Sirius had fallen, white-hot anger did not blind Harry or send him hurling forward in thoughtless vengeance. He ran his palm over the place where blood continued to flow from his slightly rounded stomach. There were more important things than vengeance, Sirius had known that and now Harry did too.

 

Bellatrix glared at his bravery, clenching her teeth and spitting at him with revulsion as she raised her wand again. “I’ll send you to see Sirius myself, Potty,” she snarled. “How _dare_ you use your wretched tricks of _love_ to try and discredit the Dark Lord!”

 

As she spoke, a searing curse blasted straight through the body of a death eater and slammed straight into Harry’s shoulder. He screamed, writhing midair, giving Bellatrix the chance to strike.

 

_“Avada Kedav–!”_

_“Expelliarmus!”_ That second voice rang through the madness as Harry dropped hard to the marble floor, spitting blood onto the glossy white surface. He winced at the throbbing pain in shoulder, glancing up from behind his fringe to find his unlikely saviour. Draco Malfoy was lowering his wand with a shaky, uncertain hand, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what he had done. Harry didn’t pause to think about why he had done it – he didn’t have time.

 

“Little traitor! _Crucio_!” Macnair bit out from the sidelines, dodging a venomous Raquelle at the same time, sending Draco rolling to the ground, howling in pain.

 

“No!” Harry cried out, staggering to his feet, only to find himself face-to-face with the serpentine eyes of Nagini. Her tongue flickered out of her mouth, tasting his blood, fear and sweat on the air. Harry stepped back a fraction, one arm around his abused belly but Nagini reared higher, hissing warningly without words. Harry froze at the sound and stopped retreating.

_“Some wolves eat snakes,”_ he hissed back at her. She stopped swaying, surprised.

_“Some snakes eat wolves,”_ she tasted the air again. _“Master will feed me your litter once he’s torn it from your belly_. _”_

Harry raised his chin, his fingers closing around a wand that wasn’t there in a fruitless search of courage. _Hide,_ his instincts whispered desperately. _Hide your body! Hide your cub! Find your alpha!_ Harry shook his head, battling with his instincts. He could hear his pack fighting to get to him, he could hear Malfoy rolling in agony for saving him – his stomach was bleeding. He couldn’t hide away now.

 

_“You’re a horcrux,”_ he hissed darkly. _And she is a threat to our young,_ his mind supplied, his instincts roiling to the surface like frantic bubbles in a boiling cauldron. He had to kill her, she had to die.

 

_“You see a lot with your pretty young eyes,”_ she said dangerously, rearing up until she was far above him. _“I will tear them out!”_ She gave a great scratching growl and dove for his throat. Magic exploded in Harry's gut and he leapt up to meet her, jerking his head to the side and sinking his suddenly sharp teeth into her neck. She screeched and Harry snarled around his mouthful, biting down, biting _harder_ the more she struggled.

 

Every molecule of blood thundering through his veins was hot and powerful. He was dizzy with it, completely overcome by the wolf inside him. _Protect young, protect mate…_!

 

He bit down again, vaguely registering the sight of Voldemort standing a few feet away, staring at him, frozen in shocked horror. Harry was too feral to care, shaking his head like a dog with a stick, wrestling with his mouthful until at last the bones under his teeth gave a sickening _snap_ and blood filled his mouth. The snake went limp and Harry spat it onto the ground, shuffling backwards on all fours to survey his kill.

 

The snake was enormous. Harry cocked his head, giving the lifeless serpent a shove with the back of his hand. It was a big kill, Alpha was certain to be pleased. He’d protected himself, he’d protected their cub. Alpha would be very proud. He spat the blood of the snake onto the ground, revolted by its taste. It was bitter, tainted by dark magic. It wasn’t good. He was hungry. He was hurt. He needed…

 

A low growl caught his attention and he turned his head in time to glimpse ice-blue eyes rimmed with fiery gold before a great silver muzzle butted him cautiously. Harry whined slowly, rolling onto his back to show his mate where he was hurt, only to cry out as his wounded shoulder touched the floor. His mate was huge, his great silver furred body completely covering his own, shielding his vulnerability from view.

 

The chaos around them must have stopped, for Raquelle and Marrok were beside him now, wet noses nuzzling his hair and fingers questioningly. They were checking to see if he was ok, but he wasn’t ok. They were all in danger still. He couldn’t rest until his pack was safe.

_“Crucio!”_ The voice of Voldemort ripped through the silence that had fallen, slightly higher than usual but no less insane. The burst of blinding light that flew from his wand bolted towards them. Fenrir snarled and stood firm over Harry, absorbing the curse into his fur, which glittered for a moment with sparks, but did nothing else. Like with giants, the magic just bounced off of him.

 

The shock and fear in each of the onlookers was palpable. But especially in Voldemort himself, whose crimson eyes went wide with fury and panic. _“Crucio! Crucio! CRUCIO!”_ The light vanished into the barrier of Fenrir’s fur as if it had never been. The alpha wolf growled dangerously, pawing at the ground but Harry whined again, his fingers curling into the soft fur of the wolf’s underbelly. He wanted to go home, he wanted to be safe.

 

The message seemed to be successfully conveyed for the wolf bowed his head, licking Harry consolingly. Harry tipped his head to the side, letting Raquelle and Marrok nudge and check his shoulders. It happened within seconds. Several long, seconds that moved as if in slow-motion. He saw his blond packmate twitching in aftermaths of the spell their enemy had cast on him – punishment for saving him. Harry frowned, concentrating hard and reached out with outstretched fingers. He whined again, his three wolf companions nuzzling closer and suddenly, the blond’s arm gave a weak spasm, putting it just within Harry's reach.

 

Voldemort’s snarl of rage, the sound of his footfalls on the marble floor and the flare of his wand echoed in the hall as five bodies vanished with a _CRACK_ from the great room. Voldemort froze, staring at the spot for a moment, slowly registering what had happened. Then, suddenly, he turned on the creature closest to him.

 

_“CRUCIO!”_ he cried, sending Bellatrix rolling onto her back with quivering spasms. As her cries offered tribute to the strength of his torture curse, of his magic, he turned on Lucius. The man was on his knees, having been knocked to the ground with such force by Marrok that he’d cracked his skull open on the marble floor. He was having trouble staying upright.

 

“ _You_!” Voldemort hissed. “You said no one could apparate within these walls, _no one_! Not even _I_ can do so, so why can the boy?!” he demanded, raising his wand when Lucius stumbled over his words. “ _CRUCIO!”_ he cast the spell again and again, but there was no reason Lucius could give. He didn’t know the answer. No one should have been able to apparate in the walls of his home. No one could, except somehow…Potter.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Fenrir grunted as his furred wolf body hit the ground. He staggered swiftly to his feet, gaze darting around in search of his mate. Raquelle and Marrok each shifted back into their mortal visage, checking the damage the death eaters had done on them. The Malfoy boy was still jerking from pain, semi-conscious beside them, the movements wrenching his arm from Harry's grasp. Harry still looked too feral to notice. He had used magic in his feral state, werewolf magic; powerful magic to apparate them just outside the boundary of the forest that formed the doorway to their territory.

Harry's eyes were vivid green, glazed over and blinking unseeingly up at the sky. Fenrir stepped over him once more, his great paws either side of those shoulders. Harry writhed when he saw him, his fingers gliding up the soft fur of his forelegs. But the alpha could see the lucidity returning slowly. They were safe now with their forest around them, the survival instinct would soon retreat from the forefront. Fenrir gave a soft growl, nuzzling at his mate's throat and lapping reassuringly against his skin. Harry whined softly, rolling his stomach up into Fenrir's nose.

The wolf winced at the smell of blood, the potential damage, but it seemed to be superficial. He could smell Harry's shallow blood only; the cub was unharmed. He lapped at the bloody, ragged gashes until they healed into dark pink marks and leant back, waiting for the more lucid Harry to return. Slowly, those eyes regained their focus.

“What the…?” Harry murmured as if resurfacing from a drunken stupor, sober at last. Shaking his head slightly, he frowned as he registered the sight of Fenrir as a wolf looming over him. It wasn’t something he’d had to face since…

Clearing his throat he shifted so he was sitting up and found himself curiously calm. The feel of that hot, furred body over his still made him tense but he was not bone-chillingly afraid. He swallowed hard and slowly reached out to brush his fingers down the soft fur on one of Fenrir’s legs, testing the little tingly sensations that tickled his fingertips as he did so. Fenrir lowered his head at the touch to meet his eyes and Harry stared back until he managed to find his voice.

“The snake was a horcrux,” he murmured, for Fenrir’s ears only. “It was so strange. I could just… I just knew…” He didn’t voice his concern of how he was able to do that, but he had a feeling that dark look in Fenrir’s eyes told him he understood regardless. “We need to go to Ron and Hermione, I need to know how many horcruxes are left so I know if I can kill him.”

 

At his words, Fenrir grunted lowly and sat back on his haunches, shuddering as the change sent his wolf form merging back into his mortal shape one once more. The human Fenrir eyed him thoughtfully. “You’re hurt,” he said, shrugging off the fur cloak Harry had passed to him earlier and wrapping it back round Harry’s body. Regardless of his nudity, he leant forward and traced outside the practically healed marks on Harry’s belly, just as Harry pulled the cloak closed.

 

“The cub isn’t,” he assured Harry on seeing the panicked look on the boy’s face. He smiled subtly at the way Harry exhaled in relief. He leant down, intending to mouth that vile gash until it vanished entirely this time; Harry's hand in his hair halted him, however. He glanced up, seeing green eyes shining like emeralds.

 

“No,” Harry said, softy but abruptly. “Not here.” He glanced to Raquelle and Marrok, then finally, the now unconscious blond beside them. He was fully back to himself and aware once more, complete with his trademark awkwardness.

 

“He saved me,” Harry muttered to himself.

 

 “Is that why you brought him back with us?” Fenrir asked, not entirely sure how he felt about the situation.  

 

 “They would’ve killed him if we left him there,” Harry murmured after a long, thoughtful pause. “He was a git but he didn’t deserve that and besides…” he paused again, chewing the inside of his lip. “It just felt right, instinctual or…whatever it is inside me that makes me do stupid things. For whatever reason, he stood between me and that curse that could’ve killed my cub and that made me feel like he was…you know, pack.” As he spoke he cringed a little, as if uncomfortable with what he was saying and distracted them both by stumbling to his feet.

 

 At the same time, Fenrir wondered if Harry realised he’d just said ‘my cub’…

 

 

 “I’m fine, don’t fuss,” Harry griped when Fenrir moved to support him. He pulled the cloak tighter around his vulnerable body. “Can you carry him, Marrok?” he asked the dark-skinned man, gesturing to Malfoy’s unconscious form. At once, the man complied, hauling the blond up into the air with one huge arm behind his back and one under his knees. He smiled reassuringly at Harry, who he knew hated asking for help, or admitting weakness in any way.

 

 “I really wish I had my wand,” Harry muttered under his breath.

 

 “Like you need it,” Fenrir grunted, “you proved its uselessness today didn’t you?”

 

 Harry grit his teeth, looking away awkwardly. “It comes when I’m panicked or overwhelmed, not when I call it,” he replied, “I’m tired of being powerless. I need to _do_ something. Our pretence with _Him_ is pretty much buggered now; I want to go to Ron and Hermione like you promised. I want to get my wand back!”

 

 “You’re hurt and our packmates are injured,” Fenrir said simply, “let’s head back to the  den.” With that he turned and began walking, Raquelle and Marrok following behind, leaving Harry no choice but to follow. His instincts were still ricocheting back and forth in his chest, his nerves still tense and shuddering. They weren’t safe yet, he wasn’t inclined to argue until they were. But once they were back…

 

They were met with uneasy silence no sooner had the gates closed behind them.  Everyone seemed to have sensed their approach through the caves and were now gathered under the moon, waiting for them. Harry could not help but notice a lot of attention was focused on the unconscious blond in Marrok’s arms. He shifted to stand slightly in front of them both. Perhaps it was a tribute to how far he’d come since Fenrir first dragged him into this life against his will, but he felt none of the hesitation he once might’ve in asserting his position.

 

 He thought distantly that it was largely due to the life growing in his belly that he felt the need to act like the alpha he was, but did not have to dwell on it for long.

 

 “He is not one of us.” Predictably, the first one to speak out was Ulric. He observed Malfoy’s branded forearm with distaste. “A Death Eater. You brought a _human_ Death Eater to our sanctuary – and a Malfoy at that,” Ulric snarled. “His ancestors were among those who tried to desecrate this pack!”

 

 Harry met his glare with his own. “I brought him here, he saved my life and he’s staying here until it’s safe for him to go home. It’s not negotiable,” he said, his voice hard and flat. As immobile as stone.

 

 “His grandfather killed your alpha’s family! Massacred his siblings like cattle!” Ulric spat, surging forward as if to rip Malfoy limb from limb but staring straight at Harry. “Have you no shame? Have you no _respect_?”

 

 “Have _you_?!” Harry snarled before Echo or Marrok or Fenrir could begin to defend him against this blatant challenge. He stepped forward to meet Ulric’s challenge, halting the older wolf in his steps. “Fenrir is my alpha, he’s your alpha but I am too,” he said rigidly, the ones just feeling _right_ on his tongue. “If this is my will then you are to respect that. Respect _me_.”

 

 Ulric, to his credit bowed his head a fraction and moved back a pace out of Harry’s space. “He is a danger to us,” the wolf murmured. “He could betray us. He has no ties to us,. When the full moon comes he will be torn to pieces if he is not a wolf and has not been claimed–”

 

 “ _I_ claim him,” Harry said simply, “He’s mine. My responsibility. And if you worry for this pack’s ability to keep a seventeen year old boy in check then we have much bigger problems.”

 

 Silence followed, during which Harry met every single pair of eyes that watched him.

 

 “He saved my life, I couldn’t repay that by leaving him there to die in punishment,” he said. “He won’t bring any harm to us, I promise you that.” This seemed enough for the crowd that had gathered, even if it wasn’t enough for Ulric. They moved politely aside as Harry headed for the den but it was Fenrir’s hand that held the door to it shut when Harry tried to open it.

 

 Harry frowned, following the line of Fenrir’s strong arm, painted with blood from his various wounds to look into his eyes. They were smouldering gold with bloodshed and were staring down at him. “Move,” Harry commanded. Fenrir smirked wickedly.

 

 “You’re becoming quite the gutsy little alpha mate,” he mused, leaning down to inhale the scent of tenacity and confidence that clung to Harry’s hair. “It makes me hard for you.”

 

 Harry flushed darkly. Fenrir hadn’t spoken to him like this since…

 

 He swallowed.

 

 “I stand by your decision to repay the Malfoy brat by offering him sanctuary until he is no longer in danger,” Fenrir continued, his voice husky and low. “But you will not play nursemaid to him in my den.

 

 “What does it matter?” Harry asked, turning slightly to face Fenrir properly. He regretted it instantly, as the move gave Fenrir the room to slid in closer, their chests touching. Fenrir’s face was very close. Closer than it had been for some time.

 

 “Still much to learn,” Fenrir almost chuckled. “An unmated adult does not lie in the den of a mated pair unless they’re related. It’s not done.”

 

 Harry snorted. “I think you knew even before you brought me here that I have a certain ‘disregard for the rules’.” He felt a pang of melancholy prick his chest on using Dumbledore’s words, but Fenrir gave him no time to ponder that.

 

 “If you want him to survive the night, you won’t test my instinct to hide you away from anyone else any more tonight,” Fenrir replied firmly, before adding, “I think you owe me that.”

 

 Harry grit his teeth and huffed heavily. For fuck’s sake. He turned and looked at Echo, Marrok and Raquelle, who were good enough to pretend they hadn’t heard them despite the fact that they’d been waiting patiently behind them for instruction. “Echo, will you take him? He’s been unconscious since the _Cruciatus_ faded and–”

 

 “Of course,” Echo cut across him with a smile. “I’ll tend to him. You must rest,” he gestured to Harry’s stomach, “you’ve had enough strain on your body as it is.”

 

 Harry nodded, feeling guilty that he hadn’t considered how strained the child must be from the explosion of magic he just created. His hand moved unconsciously to his stomach. He wasn’t doing a very good job at protecting thislife, especially since it couldn’t defend itself. He bit the inside of his mouth. His instincts longed to curl up in the dimly lit safety, the warmth of his den with his alpha between him and the only point of entry. Perhaps he should obey it, just for tonight.

 

  _I owe Fenrir that,_ he thought, realising for the first time that if he felt the constant burning of his instincts, Fenrir must be suffering with it too.

 

 “You’ll come get me if he wakes up?” Harry asked uncertainly. He knew what Malfoy’s reaction was bound to be once he awoke to find himself surrounded by werewolves. Echo nodded and Harry sighed. “Thank you,” he said softly, tiredly. He looked to Raquelle and Marrok, both as naked and bloodied from their interlude with the Death Eaters as Fenrir was.

 

 “Thank you both, for everything, really–”

 

 “Just rest yourself,” Raquelle said softly, “you performed some very powerful magic tonight.”

 

 Marrok grunted in agreement, surveying Harry with that usual warmth in his eyes.

 

 “Come,” Fenrir said gruffly, pulling the door open and urging Harry inside. Harry frowned and stared up at him in confusion as the alpha closed the door hastily behind them. “He wants you,” Fenrir growled in explanation, stalking forwards and forcing Harry to back up along with him. “His breath comes faster when you look at him, I don’t like it.”

 

 Harry’s cheeks burned at those words. Fenrir’s blood was all riled up and pumping from the fight, from the knowledge that he, Harry had been in danger while carrying. The alpha was worked up, in need of release and with the way those gold eyes were trained on his throat, Harry had a pretty good idea of just how Fenrir planned to seek that release.

 

 Any ache or pain from the battle and all tiredness was suddenly forgotten.  He was suddenly very, very aware of everything, right down to the way each individual hair on the fur wrapped around him tickled his heating flesh. But was he ready for this after…?

 

 He licked his lips. “I don’t want him, you know, Marrok,” Harry clarified for him, the confidence and assertiveness from a moment ago dwindling as his instincts bubbled closer to the surface. He was safe now, in his den and they wanted him to submit to his needs.

 

 “You’re mine,” Fenrir grunted, heat radiating from him as it only usually did on the full moon. “I’m the only one that can protect you, can sate your needs,” he drew closer, so that Harry stumbled backwards in panic and nearly fell on his arse into the cold fireplace. Fenrir caught him easily with a hand behind his back, hauling him up tight to his own body. “I’m the one that filled your belly,” he added, as if this were the final, unarguable peak of his claim.

 

 Harry swallowed hard again, his breathing escaping his lips in harsh, insatiable waves. “I don't…” He stopped short, not knowing what to say. He struggled in Fenrir's grasp to right himself, shoving with all his might against the solid wall of muscle until he was on his own feet again. But Fenrir was still standing over him, his large hands gripping Harry's hips possessively.

 

Embarrassed and uncertain, Harry turned, not wanting to look into those eyes anymore or feel that heated breath on his face. Those arms locked around him again, pulling his back tight against Fenrir's chest. He inhaled sharply. “Fenrir,” he began uncertainly, a warm hardness pressing against his arse through the fur cloak. Those hands roved the front of his body, one caressing and cupping his throat while the other slid down to roam his belly lovingly.

  
“I filled you up, I bred you,” Fenrir growled in his ear.

 

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he whispered as that mouth grazed the nape of his neck.

  
“You're mine.”

 

“Yours. Fenrir, stop,” Harry said as the hand on his throat slid up. Fenrir's thumb glided roughly over his mouth, forcing itself inside to touch his tongue.

  
“Want to show you,” Fenrir grunted, walking Harry forwards to the bed before tipping him forwards onto it.

  
“I…I can't,” Harry said as his shoulders hit the furs and his cloak was rucked up to expose his arse, which Fenrir lifted until it was in the air. Hot breath dusted the valley between his cheeks. “No!” This time his voice held conviction, force and Fenrir stopped but did not release him.

  
“Don't want my touch?” Fenrir asked, his words broken and animalistic. “I haven't taken, haven't bred you in so long. I…mmm a…bad mate?”

  
The hand on Harry's stomach felt so warm and right, the presence behind him comforting. He didn't know if he could tolerate Fenrir's all-animal urgency so soon. Last night had been different, a more acceptable intimacy and yet that had been startling enough after being starved so long of touch. After what had happened on the last full moon…

  
Slowly, Harry extricated himself and turned onto his back, leaning on his elbows as he stared up into Fenrir's burning gold gaze. “Why do you need to take me? I'm already pregnant,” Harry asked, for some reason needing to know. On the full moon, both of them had the urge to rut to create life, but now they already had. So was this instinct or sheer desire?

  
“Want to,” Fenrir panted, leaning in to graze Harry's jaw with the corner of his lips, like an animal scenting. “Want…release. Want to feel you. Want closeness.”

  
Harry stared into those eyes at that. It didn't sound like a beast wanting to unleash the tension – at least not entirely. He wanted that all as well. But could he take it? Still not entirely sure he knew the answer to that question, Harry slowly unclasped the cloak from around his shoulders, letting it pool on the bed below him. He held that gaze as he parted his thighs. He wasn't entirely sure, but he wanted it, badly and Fenrir would stop. He knew he would. He trusted him.

  
Requiring no further invitation, Fenrir leapt up, his arms supporting his body either side of Harry's shoulders as he knelt between his legs. “Want…want to be worthy,” he growled softly and leant down but instead of diving for his throat, he looked into Harry's eyes thoughtfully before pressing his lips to Harry's.

 

Harry wrapped his arms around that neck, welcoming him to his body. He was in control, because he could stop him if he wanted to – magic or no magic. Fenrir would stop if he asked, it wasn't like before, with the wolf driving them both to madness. It was different now and he wanted it so badly. “Then show me,” Harry grunted, challenging in between ravenous kisses.

 

The fact that they were kissing was a tribute to how different it was. Harry opened his mouth and tasted that tongue, groaning as it slid along his with frantic hunger. He clawed at Fenrir's neck and shoulders as that mouth devoured him, arched his hips slightly with each gasping groan Fenrir made into his mouth.

 

Fenrir's substantial hardness grinded into his, faster, harder. Holy fuck. He'd forgotten how good it was to lose himself to Fenrir. How much of a relief it was to give himself over to someone else. How amazing it was to relax and let the wolf inside him express itself. He hadn't realised just how much of a burden it was until he let go.

  
Winding his fingers in Fenrir's silvery hair he tugged, his nails scraping at the nape of his neck. Suddenly that mouth tore away from his wetly, leaving his lips swollen and damp with their combined spittle. Harry gasped for air, emitting a short whine of disappointment as the werewolf stared down at him. Blue flecked those golden eyes now, even as heavy, hot breaths spilled from that mouth. Harry had been searching for words when that head dipped again, mouthing his belly in fervent worship.

  
“Mine,” Fenrir growled, caressing the subtly rounded flesh with his stubbly jaw, scenting him there as well. Feeling him. “My cub.”

  
Harry couldn't help but smile. His head felt fuzzy. But it was both the human in him and the wolf that reached down to splay his fingers across the man's shoulders encouragingly.

  
“Yes,” he said, his voice husky and rough. “We're both yours.” A firm bump to his insides punctuated his words. Fenrir stopped and stared down at his skin, his coarse fingers brushing Harry's side. “Cub agrees,” Fenrir grunted after a moment, before crawling up Harry's body, hunching over him and seizing his mouth with ravenous kisses. He held his face in place as he did so, so that all Harry could do was gasp hungrily into his mouth and arch up into his body.

 

One large hand slid down, a thumb caressing his nipple into a hard, pink-tan peak before continuing downwards. Harry spread himself wider for that hand, feeling his arse tingle and twitch hungrily as it hadn’t done for some time, but that wasn’t where the hand was going. It wrapped around his swelling length, squeezing firmly, splaying open his slit until he gave a throaty groan.

 

His cheeks, no his entire body felt burning hot with arousal. Blood thrummed hotly through his cock, that jerked in Fenrir’s grasp in time with his leisurely caresses. Harry gasped wordlessly, open-mouthed and turned his head away from the hand that still held his cheek, his body undulating, trying to communicate to Fenrir the only way he knew how – what he wanted.

 

He felt so empty, he needed to be filled.

 

“My arse,” he panted, dazed and desperate, “touch it. _Please_.”

 

Above him, Fenrir’s eyes glistened, bright with human bliss as much as animal passion. Harry spread his legs wider in encouragement and never tore his gaze from Fenrir’s as the alpha leant down. He splayed the tight, twitching pink ring of Harry's arse open and pressed the point of his tongue into it. Harry cried out in sheer ecstasy and relief.

 

Fenrir’s face pressed into him, his mouth ravaging his puckered, neglected hole. It tightened and loosened in an obscene, hungry kiss. Harry held that gaze, watching the fiery gold eyes burn into him even as he felt the man’s stubble against his spread cheeks. It was so intimate, so sexy and he reached down to knot one hand in Fenrir’s hair encouragingly.

 

Every tendon was humming like the strings of a plucked harp. Flick. Flick. That devilish tongue flattened against his pucker and danced across it rhythmically, over and over again in a maddening pattern. He tugged hard at Fenrir’s hair, knowing he liked a little rough appreciation. He let his instincts take over, giving a low whine of wanton desire that made Fenrir prise open his hole with two fingers to allow his tongue to delve inside.

 

Harry grit his teeth, snarling. That taunting muscle was so strong. It darted as deep as it could go, writhing inside him the more he squeezed with his hole, feeling around inside him as if mapping his hot, tight chute. So good. So wet. He remembered vaguely how good it was to be pounded so hard by the man’s cock that his arse couldn’t close afterwards. For the first time, he thought of it with nothing short of mouth-watering hunger, longing for the feel of the man’s spendings leaking obscenely from his distended opening.

 

He growled this time, ferociously and pushed Fenrir’s face into his arse. The whole time the hand on his cock never slowed. After a moment of taking control, of holding the powerful alpha against him, Harry struggled back out of his reach, ignoring the confusion on the man’s face. Giving him a fleeting hungry look, he shoved with all he had at those powerful shoulders, urging him to lay backwards. Whining low in his throat, a low, animalistic sound, he moved to straddle those strong thighs but was rolled back again.

 

Fenrir hummed low in his throat in a way no human could, vocalising his pleasure in Harry's playful tussle. He nipped at Harry's jaw as he turned him onto his belly, which he caressed tenderly – even now protective of it. He made a makeshift nest for the precious bump with his free hand, before leaning Harry forward onto his shoulders, leaving his arse in the air.

 

Harry squirmed, Fenrir yipped in delight and nipped again at his jaw, breathed heavily in his ear, scraped his stubbly mouth over a bare shoulder. It had taken Harry this long but he realised now what it meant to be part of a mated alpha pair. They were equal and Fenrir _wanted_ that, wanted his partnership, not his mindless submission. Not like the Conall and the others did.

 

Rolling his hips, he exorcised his right to choose who he wanted, to fuck as he wanted and to submit if he wanted. He shifted his stomach into the nest of furs, hankering down more to lift his arse further upwards. Looking back over his shoulder, he watched his mate’s face as the man spread his cheeks, his thumbs teasing his tender entrance. His own cock jumped at the sight of that expression, weeping a line of clear pre-emission onto the furs.

 

Fenrir, having smelled it, snarled in pleasure. His eyes were practically glowing now, that is what Harry did to him. Harry revelled in the power it gave him and reached down, caressing his own leaking length as Fenrir opened his hole by sliding his thumb inside. It was unyielding and coarse, curling to taunt his bundle of nerves while the fingers of that hand cupped and kneaded his balls at the same time.

 

“So good,” Harry keened, gritting his teeth, jerking his cock faster as that thumb teased him. Fenrir’s spittle from earlier slicked the devilish caresses. It was so hot. His head lolled on his shoulders uselessly. He pressed his head into the bed, groaning throatily as the thumb inside him began to circle with each delicious twist against his prostate.

 

“Like that, pet?” Fenrir asked, his voice husky with animal passion as he opened Harry up, leaning in every now and then to lick at his entrance, lubricating his ministrations with his own saliva. “Your little hole has missed me.”

 

Harry rolled his hips, grinding into his own tight, pumping fist and Fenrir’s touch alternatively. That voice, those words, the things this man was making him feel, they were so raunchy his cock was already throbbing, fit to burst in his grasp. As if sensing this, Fenrir leant in a final time, swiping the now stretched, twitching ring with his tongue before withdrawing his fingers.

Harry panted heavily, squeezing the tip of his cock to stall his orgasm a little longer. He wanted Fenrir inside him. He never thought he would again, but he did. That was, until Fenrir leant over him, his body covering his back completely and the thick, hard head of his erection pressing against Harry’s entrance. Harry froze, licking his suddenly dry lips. He wanted it, badly, but the sheer mass of muscle above him, the heat and the heavy breathing in his ear, all coupled with the fact that he could no longer see Fenrir’s face…

 

“Fenrir,” Harry said, his voice quiet, panicked. He grit his teeth, unable to find any other words. He wanted it, so bad his arse was clenching hungrily around nothing at all but he was… _I’m afraid_ , he thought and winced, unwilling to admit that to Fenrir. It was just…just _stupid._

 

“Easy there,” Fenrir said gruffly, rolling Harry onto his side and throwing Harry's upper leg over his hip, straddling the lower one so that he was still between his thighs. Harry looked up at him, not realising he was chewing the inside of his mouth until Fenrir tugged firmly at his chin to stop him. “Better?” the wolf asked, rocking his hips in gentle suggestion, grinding his swollen cock against Harry's slick hole.

 

It was as if a great weight had been lifted off of him. Air rushed into his lungs and Harry relaxed into the furs again, reaching back for his slightly wilted erection and stroking again, tugging back the foreskin and teasing his own frenulum, just the way he liked. He turned his head to press hard into the bed in release of his thrill, but kept his eyes on Fenrir’s face, even as a low groan tumbled over his parted lips. He nodded slowly into the furs and stretched to grasp Fenrir’s cock, pulling it until the head popped through his twitching entrance.

 

With a guttural groan, he let go of Fenrir’s shaft, rolling his hips to swallow more of him, tugging at his own prick as he did so. Fenrir gave a rumble of wordless bliss, holding Harry’s upper leg back and up to give him better access as he sank in deeper, deeper, moving with Harry's rocking body until he was buried in him to the root. He sighed, savouring it, holding Harry's gaze as he swatted his hand away and began to jerk his length himself. They continued to move.

 

Resting one hand over Fenrir’s where the alpha held his leg up, Harry grasped one of his own nipples with his other hand, rolling the peak between his fingers and squirming on the bed. The sweltering heat in his arse spread like a wildfire through the rest of his body. He knew Fenrir felt it too, he could sense it, _see_ it in his face as he grinded his teeth together, swinging his hips in firm, slow gyrations. He was practically salivating at the feel of Harry around him.

 

“Fuck…!” Harry panted, relishing in the delicious ache in him. The word felt so good on his tongue. Fenrir was so big and hard and _throbbing_ inside him. Overwhelming. He’d forgotten how good it was to be this full. He dug his fingers into Fenrir’s as their lower bodies rocked together in a slow, sensual rhythm. “Fuck…me… So _good_!”

 

Growling in pleasure, only heightened by the blatant absence of Harry's inhibitions, Fenrir pulled him tighter to his body, so that Harry swore he could feel his cock in his throat.

 

“How’s that feel, pet?” Fenrir grunted, circling his hips. “That big dick feel good in your tight little arse?”

 

Harry groaned. “Fuck me,” he demanded huskily, his eyes glassy with passion.

 

Fenrir practically lunged for him then, leaning over him, slamming into him, ravishing the body beneath him with a snarl. Harry cried out, the hand on his cock speeding up, squeezing firmly and twisting at the crest of each stroke. He’d forgotten how good this could feel – how had he gone so long without this?

 

“Urgh!” he roared in swelling arousal and sexual frustration both, rocking greedily back into Fenrir’s thrusts, into the sinful twists of that fist over his throbbing erection. Their bodies were undulating together like ripples across water, slicked by their sweat, pre-emission and spittle. With another snarl, Harry seized Fenrir’s neck and dragged him hard down to smash their lips together. The position was awkward, pressing his leg tight to his shoulder, spreading him impossibly wide but it only intensified… _everything._

 

Their tongues slid together in a messy, uncoordinated tango, the sound of skin slapping on skin ricocheting off the den’s walls, clearly audible despite the noises they were both making. He could taste his hot breath, feel every part of Fenrir slamming so brutally, so deliciously into him. Harry's own cock slapped against his belly with every thrust. Fenrir’s stubbled mouth slid down, assaulting his throat and shoulder, his jaw, every bit of him he could reach with bruising biting kisses. “So…fucking…perfect!” Fenrir breathed against him, “Going to fill your arse up!”

 

Harry shuddered. His cock was so hard it almost hurt. His lips parted with a wordless cry. It was too much. His groan was swallowed by a final, crushing kiss from Fenrir as he burst into his hand, his slick chute clenching down, trembling with the spasms of aftershock. He cried out, long and hard into Fenrir’s mouth, feeling an answering howl into his own as Fenrir held him tightly in place, spilling himself inside.

 

It was so debauched and decadent. It made Harry's head spin with fuzzy, breathless bliss as he slowly came down – like a feather on a non-existent breeze. He felt that mouth bestow a slow, exhausted kiss on his neck before Fenrir let up a fraction. Harry gave an almost inaudible whine of negation. It was quite nice, Fenrir’s weight, his warmth atop him after sex. He would get used to it ‘during’ again, in time, he was confident of that. Nothing seemed impossible at the moment.

 

Murmuring happily as Fenrir mouthed his skin, he basked in the afterglow. His mate was offering an answering, husky almost-purr as he caressed him. “I’ve given you love-bites, pet,” Fenrir said quietly.

 

“Good,” Harry said breathlessly, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath. It matched his heartbeat, which was slowly calming down under Fenrir’s ministrations. After a lingering, delectable few moments, Fenrir pulled back a little more, withdrawing from Harry's body. Harry studied him as the man inclined his head, watching the way Harry's loose hole twitched and tried in vain to close around the cum dribbling out of him.

 

“You have no idea how sexy that looks, all pink and loose from me,” Fenrir muttered.

 

Harry flushed, rolling over onto his back. He didn’t miss the way Fenrir’s eyes (slowly returning to their usual blue) scanned his sweaty, sated form. It was embarrassing but also sort of…nice, to be appreciated that way. No one had ever looked at him, wanted him the way Fenrir did. It gave him more confidence than he’d ever anticipated having. Fenrir leant down, supporting his body up off of Harry's a fraction, giving room between them not only for his belly, but also for Harry to run his fingers down the hard, defined muscles of the alpha’s stomach.

 

Harry stared at the sweat-dampened flesh. He bit his lip. His own stomach had been hard and sinewy once, toned from quidditch and roughing it across the English countryside, but Fenrir was…

 

Glancing up into those eyes again, he realised that Fenrir had kept himself neat and trimmed since that first time he’d awoken to find him that way. He hadn’t been paying attention before, too wrapped up in himself, but always Fenrir had been making an effort for him. Fenrir’s fingers tilted his chin up a fraction and he realised he’d been caught staring. His blush deepened.

 

“You're quite good looking, you know,” Harry said diffidently, by way of explanation.

 

Fenrir looked a bit shocked. He rolled off Harry completely, supporting himself up on his elbow on his side. Resting his head on his hand, he eyed Harry curiously. “You’re probably the only one that thinks so,” he mused, with no hunt of concern in his voice. Fenrir, all of the werewolves were untouched by society’s worries. Here it was about strength and integrity. None of them cared what they looked like, at least, the way they saw beauty wasn’t the same.

 

“I’m an acquired taste,” Fenrir added with a smirk, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

 

Harry frowned. “Larentia must’ve thought you were, she wanted to be your mate so badly that she hated me for it as soon as she saw me.”

 

Fenrir huffed, brushing the backs of his knuckles over Harry's cheek, still flushed from sex, before allowing it to trail down slowly to settle on his nigh-nonexistent bump. As before, at his touch, the infant within moved with the same urgent butterfly flutters. Harry drew in a breath, looking down. “It seems to really like you,” he muttered in wonder. There really was something alive and moving inside him. He really wasn’t used to this. It felt so strange.

 

“You’re still Harry Potter, you know,” Fenrir said, evidently sensing Harry's feelings. “And what we did just now more than proves you’re just as much of a man as before.”

 

“How can I be?” Harry asked. “I’m bloody pregnant, Fenrir!” The hand on his belly remained but the movement within him stilled. It did feel good, this intimacy, this connection – the fact that it felt so good was what made this all the more confusing.

 

Fenrir leant up higher on his elbow to ensure Harry could not escape his gaze. “Human men alter their bodies magically all the time to get pregnant in the wizarding world; this isn’t as unusual and taboo as you seem to think.”

 

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say that the main difference was that those other men _chose_ this, whereas he hadn’t, but Fenrir didn’t deserve that. The wolf and the man were one, but under the moon Fenrir didn’t have the ability to consider his feelings as he did normally. Harry could no more blame him for what had happened than he could Remus for nearly killing him when he was thirteen. He sighed softly, he did miss Remus, Hermione, Ron…all of them…

 

“I know,” he said at last, closing his eyes. He felt quite tired all of a sudden. “I’m just confused – scared bloody shitless, actually, something you might not be acquainted with.”

 

Fenrir smirked but the expression didn’t quite touch his eyes. “I know what it feels like to be scared, pet. None of us are above it. Even Tergarletum is scared of something.”

 

Harry licked his lips thoughtfully, turning his head to the side and into Fenrir’s chest so the man couldn’t see his face. “I… Back at the Malfoy place, when _He_ touched my stomach, when he scratched me…” He winced. “I was afraid. Afraid for it – the baby, not myself. I didn’t want it to die.” He paused then, straining to look up at Fenrir through his fringe without exposing too much of his own face. But what he saw of the man’s features gave nothing away. “I didn’t expect to feel that way about it,” he concluded.

 

“You want him after all – I’m glad,” Fenrir said after a long pause. He rolled over a little, pressing his nose into Harry's throat.

 

“The thought of…well, you know _having_ it–” He couldn’t say ‘giving birth’ it was too surreal. “–and being responsible for it when I can barely keep myself out of trouble year after year, it scares the shit out of me. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to it. I can’t even really explain it except that…it’s mine. It’s my family, my _only_ blood family and no one is going to take anymore of my family away from me.”

 

For some reason, he felt what he was certain was approval rolling off of the man beside him. A huge arm now lay across his shoulders and Fenrir had stopped sniffing him in favour of laying peacefully against him. He couldn’t imagine being a parent – much less being a parent with Fenrir Greyback of all people, but he supposed in a few short months he wouldn’t have to imagine anything and Fenrir, well, he was…

 

Harry frowned then, only just realising what Fenrir had said before. “Him?” he asked.

 

Fenrir chuckled against him, though even he sounded worn, exhausted and feeling his injuries now that the buzz of adrenaline was fading. “When I think about it, I picture a son in my head.” His arm slid down so that his hand covered Harry's stomach once again. The motion was becoming more and more casual each time but Harry found it also growing more acceptable. How had he missed this closeness with other people his entire life? How had he lived so long without it?

 

“Our son,” Fenrir murmured then. Harry flushed darkly. “Still too strange for you?”

 

“A bit, yeah,” Harry admitted.

 

“But not bad?”

 

Harry swallowed. “No, I suppose not.” He thought for a moment and his insides tensed as the reality of the world came tumbling back onto his shoulders. “But he, he’s just another reason that we can’t wait any longer. We have to make things safe for him as well as everyone else.” It was him that rolled onto his side then to survey Fenrir seriously.

 

“You want to protect us both so you have to see now, _Vol– Tergarletum_ needs to be destroyed. The snake is dead. That’s one horcrux down. I need to get back to Hermione and Ron, I need to know how many more horcruxes we have to destroy before we take the fight to _Him_.”

 

Fenrir growled lowly. “You nearly lost our cub today, you’ll feel the urge to den, you’ll freeze in the face of danger because of your instincts – you’re in no shape to go find them and hunt horcruxes, much less kill _Him_!”

 

Harry felt panic rise in his gut. Fenrir wasn’t going to let him do this, but he _had_ to!

 

“You can’t keep me here,” he warned him.

 

Fenrir growled again. “I can and I will. It’s my job to keep you safe–”

 

“If you leave it until _He_ burns the whole country to the ground to find us there will be _no_ ‘safe’,” Harry hissed. “He’ll never let me go, Fenrir. Neither of us can live while the other survives. Let me finish what I started!”

 

Fenrir snarled and threw himself up off the bed, irritating his wounds and wincing as he did so, still he stalked a few feet from the bed, unable to look at Harry. After a moment, he whirled to face him, his anger visibly reined in. Even naked as the day he was born, he still looked imposing and livid. “I let him put his scaly hands on you today because you said he _had_ to, you said I had to keep up the illusion. But that’s gone now, there’s no reason to play nice and if he touches you again I’ll make him _eat_ his own hands!”

 

Harry sat up. Why couldn’t Fenrir understand? “I’m bloody pregnant Fenrir!” He snapped and the sudden admission made Fenrir stop and stare at him. Harry ploughed on, his voice tight, on the cusp of panic. “You once said whatever I had left undone was your responsibility now. You said you are an extension of me, my strength to wield – so _let me_. I can’t do this on my own so _help_ me!”

 

An odd look crossed the alpha’s face. He always found it hard to resist those two words, especially with Harry's desperation so tangible.

 

“I don’t like it when you smell so upset,” Fenrir murmured quietly.

 

“Then let me go,” Harry pleaded.

 

Fenrir let out a coarse huff and slowly, rigidly came back to him, kneeling on the edge of the furs, staring down at Harry. “No,” he said, “you’re not going anywhere.” But before Harry could argue at all, he continued, “Stay here where it’s safe. I’ll bring them to you.”

 

Harry blinked, his lips parting in speech that was cut short before it even left his tongue by another wince from Fenrir. Harry frowned, crawling to the edge of the bed and watching the alpha warily. “Why aren’t you healing as quickly as you usually do?” he asked.

 

Fenrir grumbled. “Wounds caused by strong dark magic aren’t fatal like they are to humans but they’re a fucker to heal.” He glanced down at where a few wounds on his chest were weeping dark, thick blood “No external magic can heal it either, so there’s no point in suggesting anyone else try to help.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry replied shortly to the accusing tone in Fenrir’s voice. He paused for a moment, recalling something important. “Won’t you heal quicker if you’re a wolf?” he asked cautiously.

 

“So eager for me to get back to my full strength so I can go?” Fenrir growled. He glared at Harry for a moment, his concern for Harry, his desire to keep him hidden and safe as his instincts demanded venting outward in the form of frustration. Harry knew he was making it hard for him. He was going against his own instincts by trying to finish the task that Dumbledore had left him, against what he wanted even, but he couldn’t just hide away and pretend the world wasn’t on the precipice of apocalypse around him.

 

At last Fenrir gave another huff of a reply, “Yeah, I heal quicker as a wolf, but I know what the sight of my wolf does to you.” He looked on Harry with dark, unfathomable eyes. As blunt as ever, straight to the point, but his voice was thick and husky with the things he would never voice aloud.

 

Harry moistened his dry lips. “You can change if it’ll help,” he murmured, even as his chest tightened at the thought. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

 

Fenrir frowned, considering him a moment before approaching the bed with a shake of his head. He lowered himself to the floor with his back to the fur bed, tipping his head back to stare up at the canopy above, lost in thought. Harry watched him for some time, his own eyes sweeping over the bloody wounds on his mate’s torso. They weren’t deep but they were angry unnatural shades of purple and red, clearly painful. Harry had led them into that place and it seemed he’d been the only one to get out with only a scratch. He winced at the thought.

 

Leaning down, he rested his forehead against the furs right next to Fenrir’s face, so that their cheeks were almost touching. “You can stay if you want, I know you won’t hurt me,” he said quietly, eyes closed. He felt Fenrir tense beside him and then, slowly the man pulled away. Harry remained as he was, face in the furs, his fingers curling into the fabric as he listened to the sound of bones and muscle realigning. Fenrir himself merely gave a harsh grunt that morphed into a growl as his mouth became a muzzle. But Harry still didn’t move. He waited.

 

After the sounds of change died and gave way to silence, Harry felt that warmth again, that presence just a few inches away. He steeled himself and raised his head, seeing the familiar silver wolf bowed forwards so that his head was level with Harry's face and not towering over him. Harry inhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat beading across his brow as his breath came in sharp, shallow pants. He held his breath in an attempt to stifle the sound of panic in it and forced himself to give Fenrir a nod of assent.

 

Ice-blue eyes regarded him carefully before the wolf slid onto the bed, moving across it on his belly as if unwilling to tower over him as his size typically allowed him to do. He grunted as he shifted and settled quickly in the centre, resting his head on his crossed paws. Harry couldn’t move for some time.

 

“I still don’t think I can handle it, especially not another wolf – I’m definitely not ready for the full moon but I…” He paused, his limbs shaking as he shuffled uncertainly closer to Fenrir, who was watching him patiently. “I know you won’t hurt me,” he finished. At this, Fenrir strained his neck so that it was the only part of him that moved and sniffed at Harry's belly. His long tongue flicked out, licking at the dark pink marks that were all that was left of the wounds Voldemort had inflicted.

 

Harry tensed at first, gritting his teeth and wincing but he knew the act was not a sexual one. His stomach was a sacred place on his body with the baby inside him – to all of the pack. Hesitantly, he raised his hand and caressed Fenrir’s large furry ears. The wolf raised his head, cocked it to once side as if thinking for a moment. Then, in a most un-Fenrir like manuevre, he rolled onto his back, paws in the air, never once tearing his gaze from Harry.

 

Unable to help himself, Harry smiled and stretched out, on his side, pressing his back into Fenrir’s fur in a silent acknowledgement that he was doing alright. With a relieved huff, Fenrir turned back onto his stomach, so that Harry was pressed into the warm fur of his side. That muzzle snuffled at the back of his head affectionately, the tongue lapping at his hair in both gratitude and reassurance.

 

When Fenrir laid his head down, his body relaxing, Harry breathed out a relieved sigh. It was alright. He could do this. Fenrir had done so much for him after all and besides that, deep down, he missed the way it had once felt. It wasn’t as calming as it had been when he’d first met Fenrir, but he would get used to it again, be able to relax into the warmth of that fur, in the presence of Fenrir’s other form as well – in time. He just hoped all of them lived long enough to see that day.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	15. Little Bludger

Information on Fenrir's 'cannon' past that was all outlined by JKR in Half Blood Prince, Deathly Hallows, Pottermore and Goblet of Fire. I think a brief outline can be found here (if you're interested) <http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Fenrir_Greyback>

 

I've obviously given that my own spin. Hope you like it ;)

 

**PLEASE NOTE: I'm using the timeline as per the Harry Potter books, so this story is set in 1998 and Harry's (would be) 7th year. Bear this in mind while Fenrir discusses dates at the end of this chapter.**

 

Thank you again for all your reviews - please enjoy the calm before the storm ;)

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

.: Chapter Fifteen :.

Little Bludger

 

 

 

Fenrir hadn’t forgotten or gone back on his promise to go fetch Ron and Hermione – at least not exactly. Even though Harry suspected the alpha would seize any opportunity to escape his promise, he knew he was telling the truth when he’d told him the reason they must wait. The wolf had said that even if Harry promised to stay in the mountain where nothing could touch him, he had a way of finding trouble and he didn’t think he could force himself to leave until Harry could at least defend himself with magic. Could harness it at will rather than hope he’d find it in a moment of panic.

 

Harry was working on that. He’d asked Accalia to help him as he’d once promised and so he’d sat in on the lessons the man usually gave the children. But it had been nearly two moons since Harry had agreed to that condition and he’d still not made any progress. This fact did not have a positive effect on his already temperamental mood. He wasn’t talking to Fenrir again as of this morning, when the wolf had gruffly insinuated maybe Harry wasn’t concentrating enough.

 

Those words had annoyed him most because he felt they might be a little true. He’d had six years of magical schooling. Granted wandless magic was something few wizards far older than he ever learned and werewolf magic, well it was something that apparently was never fully harnessed until after a much more extensive education. But he knew the truth of it was he’d thought it would be easier than this.

 

_Potions was always difficult but everything else I was fairly alright at, right off the bat,_ he thought, loathing himself for how cocky that sounded, even in his head. Flying had been natural, Defence Against the Dark Arts had been as easy as breathing to him – hell, he’d been probably one of the youngest people ever to conjure a fully corporeal _Patronus_ charm.

 

_Why can’t I conjure some acceptable sparks at least to get Fenrir to make good of his promise,_ he thought wretchedly, before realising he was doing exactly what Fenrir accused him of earlier. Focusing so heartily on his lack of progress and everything else that was going on, that he wasn’t paying attention at all. He glanced around him. Accalia’s twins were sitting crossed legged and still as stone, eyes closed (like the rest of the students) and hanging on Accalia’s every instruction. Even if they, along with the other younger children were only really there to get used to the formality of schooling.

 

They were all in (what Harry could only describe as) a meditation state; trying to ‘feel the magic in the earth’ they sat on, the grass that reached up around them despite the chilly time of year. Harry sighed. He’d never be able to do this. Hermione would’ve mastered it in a moment and probably also told him, much like the small voice in the back of his head was suggesting, that he couldn’t progress because part of him didn’t _want_ to. Didn’t want to because of what that would mean…

 

Slowly, without thinking his hand slid down to caress the slight bump in his tunic shirt. It was noticeable now, a small ball too defined and round to be mistaken for eating too much but still not as large as he should be, given how many moons he’d seen since that night. It still felt beyond peculiar, terrified him when he dared to let himself think of what might happen in just one more month. He swallowed hard and felt a sharp nudge inside him under his hand. It was as if the baby was trying to reassure him. He couldn’t help but smile slightly.

 

Yes this was far from the best situation. He wasn’t even sure if there _was_ a term for what he and Fenrir shared in the sane world he’d once belonged to. He was on the top of a death list for one of the most dangerous wizards alive, he didn’t have a wand, he was sort of being held hostage/protected in the middle of a mountain in…Merlin only knew where. He was terrified out of his wits and clueless as to what to do with the baby once it came. But it was his, his family, a part of him that would love him more than anything, unconditionally.

 

_Mine,_ he thought tenderly, smoothing his fingertips across his still small bump – the bludger, as he had affectionately nicknamed it, both after its size and the now frequent sharp movements it made.

 

An odd prickling sensation made him lift his head. He flushed deeply when he caught the gaze of the man watching him from across the clearing. Malfoy was sitting under the tree he himself had once taken refuge in, watching him with an impassive look on his face. Malfoy had physically recovered in his time here, survived the full moon thanks to the protection of Harry's scent and the security of wards on the den set up by Echo and Fenrir so that no one could enter until the moon had vanished from the sky. Still, somehow, the man had managed to avoid Harry most of the time, which was no mean feat seeing as Malfoy hadn’t anywhere else to go – he didn’t talk to anyone else either, didn’t even eat with them at meal times.

 

Quietly excusing himself from the lesson, Harry gracelessly staggered to his feet, making his way over to his once classmate. Malfoy had isolated himself from everyone here despite their best efforts, it couldn’t go on this way. A thousand thoughts on how to best deal with this thundered through his head as he reached the tree, yet the only thing he could manage when he opened his mouth was an awkward, “alright, Malfoy?”

 

The blond frowned up at him, closing the book he’d been holding. Harry assumed Echo must’ve given it to him, for the beta was the only one Harry had ever seen Malfoy even acknowledge – unavoidable, he supposed, seeing as Malfoy slept on a bed of furs in Echo’s den. Hmm, yes, Harry had seen the unavoidable gleam in Echo’s kind eyes. What had Amoux called it? Ah, yes, ‘smitten’.

 

Smitten with Malfoy – the thought made him slightly uneasy. As much as Malfoy deserved someone to be there for him when it seemed he’d been used as a death eater punching bag for the last year or so, he didn’t trust the blond not to be an absolute pretentious, bigoted twat.

 

“Daydreaming at school again, Potter?” Malfoy sneered, lifting his chin with arrogance that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Harry sighed at the look of badly concealed fear and defeat. He didn’t know what had happened to Malfoy in Voldemort’s clutches, didn’t need to, it was written in the very way he shied away, the way he sat and talked. He’d been tortured, mentally if not physically, lived in fear for a long, long time…

 

“I suppose at least Accalia can’t give me detention,” Harry said, gripping hold of the conversation now he had it with both hands, unwilling to let it go until he’d broken through Malfoy’s cracked, crumbling guard. He sat down in front of the blond, who looked both horrified and confused. “Though he could probably give McGonagall a run for her money. He’s a force to be reckoned with.”

They both fell silent at the mention of McGonagall, at the reminder of Hogwarts and the boyhood war they’d waged on each other that now seemed to futile and pathetic. Bottom line was, Malfoy was completely alone here and Harry, he longed for something familiar, something separate from his increasingly appealing prison here. They needed each other. And besides which…

 

“Look, I haven’t really had the chance to say it until now but…you know… Thank you, for saving me.”

 

Those silver eyes were wide as they regarded him, lips moving soundlessly for a moment as Malfoy tried to find himself. “You and your child. Saving me in return from the punishment I was bound to receive only counts as one life debt, by the way,” Malfoy said with his best air of arrogance. “I intend to collect a further debt on the life of your offspring I also saved.”

 

Harry couldn’t help it. It was all so familiar, so welcome a reminder of the world he felt so distanced from. He laughed. Malfoy looked disgruntled.

 

“Is that my purpose here now, Potter? To amuse the alpha’s bitch?” he snapped.

 

Harry smirked. “Where did you learn that phrase, Malfoy?” The irritation and uncertainty didn’t vanish from that slightly pointed face at his teasing tone, however and so Harry sighed heavily. They weren’t friends, no, but it would be a lot easier if they at least tried to be. “Your purpose is whatever you want it to be. As soon as _He_ is gone you’re free to leave. This is a safehouse, not a prison.” He wondered if the same applied to him once this was all over.

 

Malfoy snorted. “Yes, I’m sure your pet werewolves would be all to pleased to let me walk free.”

 

“It’s not like you saw where we are, or could even get in if we didn’t open the door,” Harry reasoned simply, “Only the pack can get in-”

 

“And you’re pack? You and your litter?” Malfoy bit out. Harry grit his teeth, the wolf in him sensing the fear that was fuelling the vehemence. He’d got the man talking; he wasn’t going to let him have his way by bickering with him the way he clearly wanted. Harry remained silent at that comment; they both did until the uneasy quiet irritated Malfoy into speech again.

 

“Is that what you’re learning over there every day? How to be one of them?” he asked with quiet curiosity.

 

Harry relaxed slightly. He knew how Malfoy felt, a prisoner of the very path his life had taken, isolated and in need of answers he could trust from a familiar face. “Werewolves can use magic without wands. I have unfinished work to do with _Him,_ work Fenrir will only help me with if he sees I can defend myself.” He winced at the way those words sounded. “It’s the whole ‘mate’ thing,” he said by way of explanation.

 

Malfoy stared at him. “You realise you have the most dangerous werewolf in Britain wrapped around your little finger, Potter?” he said, aghast. “The power you wield without ever needing to raise a wand. Even _He_ is scared of Greyback, Potter and you can get him to do whatever you want.” He stared at Harry a moment before turning away to stare across the clearing, to where Fenrir was stripping a stag carcass with his bare claws. They both blanched at the sight.

 

“That power is so wasted on such a Gryffindor,” Malfoy murmured. “This entire pack, they worship you. They adore you like a little bloody king.” A frown creased that brow as the man turned back to face him. “Why on earth did you walk willingly to _Him_ when you have a life of safety and comfort here? No one can touch you here.”

 

Those words said a great deal more about Malfoy than they did about him, Harry thought and his gaze softened a little as he regarded his once-enemy. That was all Malfoy wanted really, safety, respect and comfort. How long had it been since he’d felt safe? Longer than Harry even, he suspected.

 

“ _He_ will tear the world apart to find me. I won’t let anyone else die when I might be able to do something about it,” he said.

 

Malfoy looked confused. “I never understood that about you, no sense of self-preservation, Potter,” he murmured. “I can’t believe you’re still planning on facing _Him_ again, even with whatever dark arts they are trying to teach you over there. Which, by the way, you will never grasp if you continue to be so easily distracted. Another thing I detested about you at school – no wonder we had so many blown up cauldrons in Potions.”

 

Harry scoffed. “You try concentrating on new-fangled ‘werewolf magic’ when the weight of the bloody world is literally on your shoulders,” he griped, trying to ignore the way Malfoy’s gaze wandered curiously to his belly as he spoke. “Not to mention how frustrating it is to have been at this for nearly two months with _no_ progress _at all_! I was at Hogwarts for six years before this! I’m seventeen! Surely I should have shown _some_ sign of progress by now?”

 

Malfoy was staring at him confused again. Confused and disbelieving. “I don’t pretend to be your closest comrade, Potter, but even I know that your birthday falls only shortly after mine.”

 

Harry's brow knitted. Where was Malfoy going with this?

 

“It’s September, Potter. You are _eighteen_. Good grief, how can you look after an infant if you can’t even remember your own bloody birthday?”

 

“It’s not like we have calendars here, Malfoy,” Harry snarled, the comment about the baby striking a nerve. “We operate by the moon cycles. I just… _forgot_.” He’d been eighteen for over a month and he hadn’t realised? “And as for the baby, I’ve been told endlessly that the essentials of care come through instinct – both human and werewolf. Apparently the rest follows.

 

“What a crock of shit,” Malfoy replied. “I take it you weren’t aware you had this recessive lycanthrope gene Greyback spoke about when he first took you?”

 

Harry shook his head. “I reckon my parents would’ve told Remus if they’d known and he would’ve told me for sure, being what he is. It only awakens if you’re bitten by a werewolf so there is a high chance they didn’t know. Might’ve made all this easier to accept if we’d all known,” he gestured to himself, “but can’t be helped.”

 

Malfoy looked contemplative. “You know, in the wizarding world it’s fairly common for men to carry children by the use of invasive potions and spells. The only things that make this unique are that it happened naturally and you’re the only way werewolves can have biological young.”

 

“They didn’t exactly teach that at Hogwarts,” Harry muttered bitterly.

 

“It’s just common knowledge. More than a few of our classmates have two male parents. Perhaps you ought to consider the possibility that you are just incredibly dense, Potter. It might be better for you if you stay in your nice cave with your pet wolves.”

 

Harry gave a small, wistful smile. “It’s not so bad here, Malfoy. You might even like it if you let yourself.” He paused, wondering if he should mention Echo’s inadvisable crush on Malfoy, but then decided against it. It wasn’t his secret to tell. “Come to the dinner circle tonight and you’ll see how readily you’re accepted-”

 

“What if I don’t _want_ to be accepted, Potter? What if I just want to keep as far away as possible until it’s safe to get out of here?”

 

“Well, I am ‘incredibly dense’ after all, if you rely on only my conversation for company until the end of the war, you might just go mad,” Harry mused, getting to his feet (with no small amount of difficulty). He should be getting back really, he did have a lesson to attend and he felt oddly _lighter_ after his conversation with Malfoy. He might even be able to concentrate.

 

“Incidentally,” he began as he started to head toward Accalia and the children again, “Once this is all over, nothing will stop you from being free. I promise you.”

 

Malfoy stared at him. “And what about you, Potter, when this is all over are you going to play happy families with Fenrir Greyback?”

 

Momentarily silenced by how bad that sounded, Harry frowned. He hadn’t thought about life after Voldemort outside of this place for a long time. Not really. He’d thought about ending Voldemort, thought about what would happen when the baby came but nothing beyond that. “I always wanted a family. I just didn’t think it would happen this way,” he said at last.

 

“That’s not an answer, Potter,” Malfoy said. But that was just it – Harry didn’t have one.

 

*                      *                      *

 

It was now a week before the full moon – the October full moon. He’d managed a higher degree of concentration in Accalia’s lessons and made a fraction of progress. It seemed like a lot, but it still wasn’t enough. If he concentrated hard, a sharp breeze of white-hot magic rushed through the clearing and he could even manage a wandless _Lumos._ He’d managed to light fire now at will, just a little flicker like a muggle candle lighter – but nothing else. Nothing he could actually use and nowhere near enough to convince the wolf in Fenrir that he could be left alone while he went to fetch Hermione and Ron.

 

He was beginning to despair. Even Malfoy had taken pity on him and tried teaching him various concentration techniques he’d used in Charms and non-verbal spells in Defence Against the Dark Arts back at Hogwarts.

 

During one lesson, Accalia had even suggested they all take off their clothes in order to bring them closer to the magic of the earth they were trying to draw power from (much to Harry's horror). Today the ground was damp with yesterday’s rain, however and the air was sharp with September cold, so they remained clothed. Instead they threaded their fingers through the grass, trying to draw the magic up into themselves in an exercise aiming to warm their skin with its heat.

 

Vilkas, who had been sitting among them had lost interest long ago and toddled off, not that Harry blamed him. He clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to concentrate. He clenched his fingers in the dewy grass, gritting his teeth. _Beyond pathetic, Potter – DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING!_ He felt an effervescent heat rush up from his core, sending odd little zaps through his synapses. It was there alright, he just needed to get at it.

 

Thinking of all the people that needed him, Ron, Hermione, Remus, the people that had needed him and he’d lost. He grit his teeth again. Losing anyone else wasn’t an option. A few strands of grass loosened from the moist earth. It felt like popping candy going off under his skin now. It was just there, right there. He could taste its metallic heat on his tongue like blood.

 

A shriek of delight rushed through his ears. His eyes flew open, concentration broken as he spied Vilkas scrambling up the tree he’d once taken refuge in. It didn’t appear anyone else was taking much notice of him, one of Accalia’s twins had begun throwing a tantrum, screaming at the top of her lungs. Harry frowned. How could something so small and innocent looking make such a foul noise? His hand moved to his belly as it often did now, wondering just how he would manage tantrums, tears, shit and vomit. He cringed. It seemed to come so naturally to Accalia.

 

A blood-chilling scream tore through the air then, dragging Harry back to reality like a clap of lightning. He saw the world move in slow motion as everyone else turned toward the sound. Vilkas slipped on the topmost branch, the bark damp from the rain and sending him hurtling toward the ground.

 

Everybody around him surged into panic. Amoux screamed from somewhere across the clearing, but before the sound had even finished leaving her lips, Harry felt the sting of the magic that had been bubbling beneath his skin erupt. Like glass shattering, it burst into the air, barrelling towards the falling boy in a thousand glistening prisms of light. Vilkas stared, wide-eyed and in shock as he was halted a few feet off the ground, surrounded by the ball of animate light.

 

It took everyone a moment to realise what had happened – even Harry himself. He blinked, his magic bobbing gently towards them like a little boat on a calm stream. There was chatter all around him as Vilkas came to hover just in front of them. Amoux flew forwards but Accalia stopped her. “Wait,” he said quickly, glancing from Harry to Vilkas, who was prodding in awe at the sparkly bubble surrounding him, the myriad of colours that was Harry’s magic.

 

“Harry, bring Vilkas closer,” Accalia said carefully, as if the slightest movement would break whatever connection Harry had managed to accomplish.

 

Harry swallowed. He didn’t even know how he’d done it! Months of straining for some sort of result and it had just happened! He grit his teeth again. The bubble wavered and he panicked. Amoux edged closer to the bubble, ready to catch her son if he fell again this time. Her eyes were tear-flecked and everyone was watching. Now the immediate danger was over, Harry felt the buzzing energy that had risen to the occasion dwindle. He struggled to hold onto it.

 

“Come on, Harry,” Accalia whispered, “you don’t have a wand to direct the magic, you need to use your mind. _You_ are the only vessel you need for magic. You don’t need a wand. Picture what you want in your mind and make it happen.” When Harry looked doubtful, Accalia continued. “Earth magic grows stronger the more you want it. _Do it._ ”

 

Vilkas was over his shock now it seemed, giggling and reaching for Harry. There was no dire need now, it was only as important as Harry made it, to pull the boy towards him with magic. He grimaced, trying to remember how it felt to channel magic through his body to the phoenix feather wand he’d been missing for so long.

 

_A wizard that faced down Tergarletum at only a year old doesn’t need a silly stick for power,_ Fenrir had grunted at him only this morning. Harry stared unblinking at the bubble of light and the child that reached to him from within. The shield flickered as if it might die before glowing brighter than ever and gliding slowly towards him.

 

“That’s it!” Accalia exclaimed. The bubble popped as Harry reached up into it and Vilkas threw his arms around his neck with a squeal. He immediately went to his mother for simultaneous scolding and kissing.

 

“Thanks heavens!” Amoux cried, her son wriggling unhappily under her smothering. “Oh, Harry thank you – thank you so much! If it weren’t for you I – I panicked I just–”

 

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured her, a little embarrassed. “It’s fine, really. He’s safe, that’s all that matters.” He couldn’t help but smile as she kissed her son’s head again. Vilkas squirmed and grunted his displeasure. Amoux had only taken her eyes off of him for a moment and Vilkas had gotten into trouble. Harry brushed his fingers over his swollen stomach. If his child was anything like him or Fenrir, he was in for a world of trouble.

 

“It seems your power manifests best when faced with your strongest characteristic,” Accalia said as the small crowd dispersed into their own chattering groups, dismissing themselves from their lesson after the excitement. Only he, Amoux, Vilkas and Harry remained as they were “It’s your need to save people,” Accalia continued. “We just need to harness that, to build on it so that you can use it at will – or at least to save _yourself_ should the need arise.”

“To save time, we just need to manipulate that hero complex of his,” a voice said from the side.

 

Both Harry and Accalia turned to see Ulric striding towards them. _Arrogant as alway_ s, Harry thought. He glared at the man who he thought had never really liked him as he continued to speak.

 

“If you focus on protecting the cub inside you, any spell that you cast to protect it will protect you also,” he explained in his usual coarse voice, his worldly eyes cold and unreadable. “I think he will find it easier to call on his power to protect the cub than himself,” he said, addressing Accalia but not tearing his eyes from Harry. They roved his softly swollen belly thoughtfully. It made Harry uncomfortable. He still made a point of avoiding this man wherever possible; even after all the months he’d been here.

 

Staring back at the man, he snorted. “So you’re suggesting you stand there and what? Throw things at my stomach until I can protect myself?”

 

“Well, why the hell not if it works?” Ulric replied sharply, looking down into Harry's face. He was nearly as tall and bulky as Fenrir despite his age, almost as intimidating. Even if Harry himself wasn’t afraid of him, his instincts made him want to curl on the ground around his belly and hide it from the wolf standing so brazenly in his personal space. But he raised his chin defiantly, ignoring the urge.

 

“It will work. From what I saw then,” Ulric continued, “and from what we all saw back when you saved the alpha from that rogue wolf atop the waterfall. No one will be able to touch you-”

 

“Fenrir wants proof of that though before he leaves,” Harry argued, before straightening up despite himself. “So help me prove it,” he challenged.

 

A wicked grin crept across the old wolf’s face. He hunkered down onto all-fours without tearing his gaze from Harry's and all too quickly, his smirking mouth shifted into a grey, furry muzzle. The bottom of Harry's stomach fell out – or it felt like it. His eyes widened and his heart stopped at the sight of the great brown wolf standing in front of him. He was still readjusting to Fenrir’s wolf and _this_ was too much. Despite himself, he was shaking, his insides _hurt_ they were so tight with fear.

 

Beside him, unnoticed by him, Amoux began to move toward him, but Accalia halted her with a shake of his head.

 

“But he is _really_ afraid, Accalia,” Amoux murmured, uncertain as she watched the exchange.

 

Harry barely heard them. His heart was pounding ferociously in his chest. He slammed his eyes shut, trying to get a grip on himself, but the sense-memories from _that_ night swept over him. The feel of an unyielding muzzle, of hot canine breath and a huge furred body holding him down…

 

He stumbled back when Ulric bared his fangs and advanced slowly, stalked towards him. Harry staggered, dropping onto his arse and shaking his head as he struggled to do something – anything. It was too much – he was too close.

 

“Stop!” He hissed. Ulric merely gave an answering snarl, still coming for him. He was so close!

 

Harry's entire body shook with tremors, the hairs on the back of his neck raising up as he remembered so vividly the feel of monstrous paws scraping at his flesh. Strong forelegs gripping his waist, hot wolf breath disturbing his hair and the pain – the degradation, the unwanted, demeaning pleasure as he screamed…

 

Huge paws were disturbing the earth as their owner stalked him, Harry could hear them without having to look. He could hear the way the ground gave way beneath their weight, feel that presence and it made his stomach churn. His stomach. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms and knees around his belly. He couldn’t do it. He needed to get away but he couldn’t move. Needed to put distance between him and the wolf!

 

“Stop it!” he screamed. The wolf was right there in front of him – jaws wide – about to lunge. “No!”

 

Suddenly the world around him erupted with an electrical explosion. The very air crackled like lightning, a great nuclear wave resonating from Harry's voice. Harry's eyes flew open, and even dazzled by the golden light he saw Ulric thrown into a backwards somersault through the air. He landed on his paws with a scrabble, snarling gleefully before bolting towards him again, faster this time.

 

Harry flinched, throwing his hands up instinctively in defence and the light burned, shoving Ulric back again – and again and again. Harry was panting heavily on his knees in the dirt, one hand supporting his body and the other in an instinctual shield around his midsection. That last time he sent Ulric into the dirt, dust flying, he hadn’t even moved his hands.

 

The light was fading now slowly. Coloured spots were still twinkling behind his eyes from the severe strength of it and sweat beaded across his brow. But he’d shoved the wolf away at least twelve times just then, or was it thirteen? He blinked as the crumpled heap of fur staggered upright once more. Fur stood up on end, smoking slightly. That muzzle was scuffed but those pearly white fangs were visible in an almost grin. Shifting back, Ulric rolled up onto his human feet, covered in dirt and singe-marks. He bore an oddly satisfied smirk as he regarded Harry.

 

“Right,” he said with the air of a man intrigued by his latest experiment, “now use it without me diving at you this time – do it!”

 

Harry stared at him, disconcerted for a moment. Then his fingers curled into the dirt, his eyes clenched shut and his jaw set. He couldn’t say how he did it other than the adrenaline still running through his blood, making his head, heart and lungs pound frantically, allowing him to seize what he wanted. He didn’t want Ulric to dive for him again, didn’t want to give him a reason to be the wolf again and he _willed_ it to be so. Willed it with all his being.

 

The golden light flickered once, twice before erecting like a great prism around him. It held solid for a few moments, shining like gossamer and gold dust. A droplet of sweat trickled off the end of Harry's nose. He shoved his glasses back onto his face more securely. The light died.

 

“Again!” Ulric demanded, shifting as if he might move closer.

 

The golden shard shimmered back to life again, more quickly than before and stronger before it died. Harry gave a great gasping smile. He called it back again without waiting for Ulric’s prompt. It lasted longer this time. His adrenaline had lowered now, his heart rate and breathing easing back to normality. His muscles ached and his fear abated but the shield was stronger still. He had it!

 

“Come on!” He grunted through clenched teeth, his fingernails rooted in the earth as he summoned the shield and stared at its electrical, crackling surface, holding it there with nothing more now that sheer, bloody-minded determination. “Try and push through it!” he called to Ulric. The werewolf nodded, still panting himself as he hesitantly reached out. His humanoid fingers sizzled as they touched the surface and he snatched them back instantly.

 

“I can feel the impenetrable power from here,” Ulric said, and Harry knew that meant there was no way they could get to him unless they took it down. He nodded his understanding and (careful to keep the barrier erect) slowly moved to his feet. There was a peculiar burning under his skin. He was sweating as if he’d run a marathon but the prism was still there, as strong and bright as ever. He felt it stabilise around him. He could hold it more easily with each passing moment.

 

A thrill of exhilaration similar to what he’d felt when he’d cast the _Patronus Charm_ completely that first time swept through him. He’d _done_ it!

 

Glancing around, he saw that Accalia, Amoux, Vilkas, Malfoy and Echo were all there now watching him among most of the rest of the pack. Malfoy’s eyes locked with his and he bent, picking up a small branch and launching it at the shield. It combusted on contact, the ash remains drifting uselessly to the ground. The blond looked impressed – they all did. Harry could not help but smile.

 

“I can hold it now,” he confirmed for them, looking down at himself. He looked the same but he felt… _free_. Independent and strong as he hadn’t felt for so long. The most powerful he had felt since he’d found out he was pregnant. He still winced slightly at the thought, even as his hand moved lightly over his stomach.

 

It was clear as day to him and anyone else that watched. The adrenaline came from his fear of the wolf form, his desire to avoid it at all costs but it was his need to protect the baby that enabled him to turn all of that into magic. The baby was bouncing around happily inside him, its sheer excitement at the feel of his magic rushing through Harry in waves.

 

Noticing then that Ulric was holding his hand to his chest, Harry frowned and moved forwards, dropping the shield as he did so. “Are you alright?” he asked, looking at the seared flesh.

 

Ulric gave an arrogant sneer of a smirk. “Could you do it again at a moments notice?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“Then I’m fine,” Ulric said and turned his head to call over his shoulder, “You saw it yourself, he’s ready. Nothing is touching him or that cub.”

 

Harry followed his line of sight and found himself staring at Fenrir, who looked torn between anger and concern. He stalked forwards, seizing hold of Ulric’s throat.

 

“Fenrir, wait!” Harry called but the alpha had already drawn Ulric in close as he seethed.

 

“If you ever incite so much as a whiff of fear like that in my sub again I’ll rip out your tongue,” he snarled, dropping the man back to his feet and shoving him away forcefully.

 

“Fenrir,” Harry began, “he was just–”

 

“I know what he was doing!” Fenrir snarled, spit flying in his rancour. He turned back to Ulric then, as if the sight of Harry only increased his ire. “And while I disagree with what you did, I am indebted to you, Ulric – thank you.”

 

Ulric gave a small understanding bow of his head. “It needed to be done. I have found it… _difficult_ in accepting the Alpha Numero but he has proved himself and no doubt will again, just as you proved yourself as the best leader for this pack time after time.”

 

Harry blinked. Some things he would never understand about werewolves, he thought. They beat the shit out of each other and proclaimed their loyalty and affection to each other in the same breath. How the tables had turned. It had now come to Ulric singing Harry's praises and Fenrir avoiding his gaze, shifting away from him as if he were the source of a bad smell.

 

_What the fuck?_ This morning when Fenrir had left the breakfast circle he’d departed Harry's company with the customary (almost affectionate) possessive caress of his throat as always. Now he looked positively furious with him. Why? Because he could _finally_ use magic again?

 

_Because you’re independent of him,_ his mind supplied. _Because you don’t need him._ He frowned at that. He did need him. He needed him a lot.

 

“Fenrir,” he began, but the wolf cut across him.

 

“You do what is right by me and the pack in the end, you always have,” Fenrir said to Ulric. “That’s why I’m trusting you to watch over Harry and the human when I leave. Echo will be in charge of the pack.”

 

Ulric inclined his head a fraction, glancing from Harry to Malfoy to Fenrir again. “Of course, but…leave to go where, Alpha?”

 

Fenrir’s back stiffened. That was all Harry could see of him now and he felt his own anger and frustration rising in him the longer the alpha refused to face him.

 

“It’s only a few days until the full moon – I’ll leave to bring Hemming, Lupa and the humans back after the moon has passed. Marrok and Raquelle will come with me.” He paused and Harry had the impression that Fenrir would’ve glanced back at him if he hadn’t been so determined to avoid eye-contact.

 

“Do you think you can keep my mate and his pet human out of trouble for a few days?”

 

Ulric smirked. “ _Tergarletum_ himself could not get through the shield the Alpha Numero just erected,” he said, with a peculiar air of pride. “But yes, I will watch him – and the blond. I’ll keep their noses clean.”

 

Harry met Malfoy’s eyes and saw that he was wearing a scowl to match Harry’s own, but wisely kept silent. The blond had put up with worse insult from Voldemort, Harry supposed and had to remain quiet in the face of it all. Harry, however, didn’t.

 

“If it will only take you a few days go now and you’ll be back before then,” Harry snapped, his tone forcing Fenrir to turn to face him. “Go and get it over with.”

 

Fenrir sneered. “Gladly, but our arses are perched on a double-edged sword. My instincts are too high this close to the moon to force myself away from my needy pregnant mate but the longer we wait, the closer it comes to the cub’s arrival. You’re lucky I can force myself to leave at all. Sorry you’ll have to wait for the reprieve.”

 

Harry snarled. Emotions were running high for everyone with the moon approaching and the cub in his belly but he wasn’t going to be Fenrir’s outlet for that. “Pity,” he hissed, so that only Fenrir could hear, “because I don’t intend to spend a minute longer with you in this stinking mood anyway, so you may as well make use of your time elsewhere.”

 

He turned, stalking in the other direction (away from Fenrir and towards where Malfoy, Accalia and the others stood) but Fenrir whirled him around, his fist closed tight around his arm. Werewolves were always heavy-handed, especially around the full moon but Accalia and Amoux had told him enough times that subs were built to take it – take it and give as good as they got.

 

Harry snapped at his mate as if _he_ were the one with fangs, wrenching himself out of Fenrir’s grip so hard that he staggered back, stumbling into Malfoy, who awkwardly steadied him on his feet. Harry never tore his eyes away from Fenrir’s. “Don’t touch me,” he growled, “you can’t turn your back on me and talk about me like I’m not there, then stop me when I want to leave. I’m not your whipped dog.”

 

Fenrir dove for him again and this time Harry, fatigued from the extensive use of magic for the first time in months fell back, taking Malfoy with him. They landed on a heap in the floor so that when Fenrir descended on them, he was a threat to them both. Harry could take (and fight off) whatever he threw, Malfoy couldn’t. Before Harry could even summon his magic, however, a snarl from above and a flash of tawny coloured fur sent Fenrir rolling back.

 

Echo was between them and Fenrir, his head bowed a fraction to the side in apology, but his fangs bared all the same. Harry blinked and out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw Malfoy flush. He’d had his suspicions, but this was…

 

Fenrir roared in anger. With emotions running so high, he obviously hadn’t made the connection as to why Echo was standing between him and the two young men. He only saw a wolf between him and his mate.

 

“Potter,” Malfoy gasped in his ear, “Do something – Greyback is going to tear him apart!” The blond’s voice was low yet urgent, scared for Echo rather than himself. It was such a startlingly sweet notion coming from the most unlikely source that it stunned Harry into stillness. And just like that, Harry's anger abated. Swallowing back his fear, Harry rolled forwards onto his feet. The bludger-sized bulge wasn’t enough to hinder his quidditch-honed and werewolf enhanced speed. Biting back the quaver of fear, he moved nimbly between the two wolves as they faced off.

When Echo saw him he shifted warily backwards, until he was standing next to Malfoy, who looked flushed and confused still – as if he wasn’t sure if he was afraid of Echo in this state or not. Fenrir, however, still refused to acknowledge Harry and seemed intent on walking over him, until Harry dropped down to his knees, knotting his fingers in the fur of Fenrir’s forelegs.

 

Inhaling deeply, Harry sent a sharp shock of electric power through his fingertips. From the way Fenrir’s gaze snapped down to him, he thought it might’ve been a bit fiercer than he intended. Fenrir bent his neck so that those burning blue eyes met his on his level and Harry held that gaze, straightening up on his knees so that his belly brushed against Fenrir’s nose. It was enough to quell the ferocious anger in those eyes. Like sand thrown on a fire.

 

Fenrir gave a small apologetic huff, for Harry's ears only and nudged him gently until he was sprawled back on his arse. Harry had to plant his hands on the ground to keep himself upright while Fenrir sniffed him, searching for harm he had caused. Harry sighed. Emotions really were running too high. A moon heat was bad enough but with the added stress of everything else…

 

If he looked in those eyes, the presence of the wolf almost didn’t affect him – almost. He raised a hand slowly and caressed Fenrir’s muzzle in acceptance of his apology, holding on so that Fenrir could help him rise to his feet. Once he was upright, he let go with an awkward pat on that furry neck, only just remembering that everyone was watching.

 

As Fenrir changed back, he gave Harry a look that was a clear request to follow him. Harry nodded, blushing at the sight of his mate naked under the sun. Harry glanced to where Echo and Malfoy stood and was delighted to see Malfoy was just as uncomfortable as him regarding Ulric, Echo and Fenrir’s nakedness.

 

“Part of being humans among the pack,” he said to the blond, who flushed darker and said nothing in return. Harry couldn’t resist moving closer to taunt him as Echo awkwardly distanced himself to redress (more for Malfoy’s sake than his own, Harry knew, being as the pack could care less about nudity).

 

“Let me know when you’re ready to run naked with them on the full moon,” Harry mused quietly in Malfoy’s ear.

 

Malfoy looked both aghast and intrigued at once at the notion. “You are a disgusting little pervert, Potter,” he snapped under his breath. “I have no affixation with bestiality, unlike some.”

 

Harry laughed, although the sound was slightly hollowed by the recollection of the one time he _had_ been aroused by Fenrir as a wolf. He shuddered, shoving the image aside sharply. “Running with them isn’t sexual, it’s a rush though, I’ll admit,” he smiled, unable to forget the freedom it had instilled in him before, no matter how he feared it now.

 

It was a mixture of being free, completely and utterly untouched by worry or duty. A warm embrace, a warm fire in winter. It wasn’t any one thing – but all of them at once that (for a werewolf) could only be found under the moon with someone else. How could he explain to Malfoy, how much it meant to someone like Echo?

 

It was an odd discussion, embarrassing, but Malfoy wasn’t like him, wasn’t required by nature to have sex with a wolf under the moon for breeding purposes. He was terrified but he wanted Echo and had no one to turn to for advice except him. He swallowed uncertainly, determined to do his best. Malfoy was a selfish little ponce at times, but he deserved support from _somewhere. Especially as I doubt Mr and Mrs Malfoy would encourage his love interest with a werewolf_ , he thought.

 

“It’s not about sex, it’s about connection,” he said at last, noting the way Malfoy arched an elegant brow in disbelief. Harry pressed on. “They’re uninhibited by anything, only what they want. They’re free. It’s very personal, all of it.” He scratched the back of his hair uneasily. “Look, you’ve hidden away with me every full moon since you got here. You’re covered with their scent – all of them and I have my magic back now. We might be able to do something so that you could be with Echo under the moon – if you wanted.”

 

Malfoy’s usually pale, pointed face was positively beet red now. Harry stared at him stone-faced, trying hard not to let his own embarrassment show. “Your decision, Malfoy, I’m just offering,” he said, turning to leave.

 

“Potter.”

 

That voice stilled him, but he didn’t turn.

 

“If you’re so afraid of them when they’re wolves…” Draco paused, obviously searching for the right words. Harry _knew_ that Echo had told him why he so feared the full moon, the sight of them as wolves, but they had never discussed it until now.

 

“How could you bear being so close to them? How could you stand the blow to your pride, kneeling at his feet like that?” Draco asked quietly.

 

It was then that Harry turned. “Their emotions and instincts run high around the full moon,” he explained simply. “If you want Echo enough, you’ll have to forsake your pride during that time. The rest of the time, it’s an even sacrifice of pride on both sides to make it work.”

 

Draco looked at him thoughtfully, not admitting or denying his attraction to the beta wolf. “You’re trying to tell me things between you and _Fenrir Greyback_ are equal?” he asked. “Does he make just as much sacrifice for you? I didn’t see much just then.”

 

Harry smirked despite himself. “Well I know what a self-righteous, troublesome pain in the arse I can be – you should know that first hand. So yeah, it probably works out about equal in the end.” He was worried Draco might repeat his question of what Harry intended to do after the war was over, regarding Fenrir, but he didn’t. After a moment of stretched, uncomfortable silence, he moved to follow Fenrir again, but Draco’s grip on his arm stilled him. When he looked back to the blond again, those silvery eyes were positively anxious.

 

“What you said…before,” the blond began awkwardly. “You think you could do it? That I could… I don’t want to be a werewolf, Potter, but I want him.”

 

Harry wondered if that made any sort of relationship between him and Echo possible, but then, he couldn’t expect Draco to make such a sacrifice for a man he didn’t even know that well. He knew what Draco felt – he and every wolf could sense the tension in the air. There was the raw attraction between Draco and Echo, empathy and connection of being thrown together. Maybe there would be more but until then, he supposed Draco was being sensible and actually quite mature considering his childhood prejudice against anything less than pureblood wizard.

 

Besides which, he doubted Echo would be the sort to want or require his partner to change for him. He supposed he would have to let them decide that among themselves. If there was anything he hated most of all, it was people getting involved and trying to make decisions for him. He wasn’t going to be that person to Draco or Echo for that matter.

 

“It’s all about scent with werewolves during the moon. Scent and claiming. I claimed you, like I claimed Ghost.” He glanced over to where the wolf was sprawled out enjoying the rare sunshine a few feet away. He wagged his tail happily at the sight of Harry looking at him.

 

Draco bristled. “So I’m like a dog to you, Potter?”

 

Harry snorted. “Don’t be an arse, Malfoy. The point is you’re not the first human to want to be with a werewolf. You’ve been claimed by the pack, you smell like one of the pack, perhaps we just need a bit of magic to enhance both of those features?”

 

Draco nodded rigidly. “And you’ll be with me when I take my first steps out there, just in case, I assume?” The blond grinned. “As I thought. You may be a self-righteous, selfless twit, Potter, but you have your own means to achieve too. You want to walk out under the moon again and you want someone with you when you try. Someone who isn’t drugged up on the moon.”

 

Harry flushed, opening his mouth to try and justify himself, for Draco was right, just a little bit, but the blond beat him to it.

 

“If I’d known you were so Slytherin, Potter, we might have begun to get along some time ago,” he said with a smirk, before turning, leaving Harry to stand there stunned for a moment. That was, until he remembered he’d agreed to follow Fenrir a few moments ago now. He felt considerably lighter now his pent-up hormones had been unleashed via magic and their recent argument. Though he could tell from what he was sensing from Fenrir now, that the wolf had something more mutually satisfying in mind to help relieve the tension.

 

He couldn’t help the little thrill of anticipation that ran up his spine. And quite altruistically, he wondered how happy it would make Fenrir to hear of his decision to try and run with him under the moon again. _Merlin help me,_ he thought, but could not help but smile.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry wasn’t sure how exactly Fenrir had persuaded him into this rather embarrassing position but he supposed it was as the man had always said; there was no one to witness nor judge what they did but each other. That and Fenrir had been in such a good mood since Harry had told him that he intended to leave the seclusion of their den on the full moon (due in just a few short hours) that he just hadn’t had the heart to refuse.

 

_That and he’s leaving in the morning, on my bidding and it doesn’t feel right,_ his mind supplied. He almost wished _that_ particular effect of moon heat lasted beyond tonight – the not caring or concerning themselves with anything beyond each other. It was so much simpler that way. Then he could just ask Fenrir to stay. But he couldn’t.

 

Warm breath dusted his ear and he shuddered as neatly trimmed stubble tickled the shell. “You’re anxious, pet,” Fenrir whispered in his usual rough, hoarse murmur. His huge arms tightened around him, his nose nuzzling into Harry's damp hair. He was tense all of a sudden, having obviously misinterpreted Harry's silence. “You don’t have to go through with it tonight if you don’t want to.”

 

They were laying in the steaming, warm pool of a bath in the den. Greyback was leaning against the edge while Harry had been persuaded (somehow) to lay sprawled across him, his legs open either side of Fenrir’s, his head back against his mate’s shoulder. Those large hands were softly smoothing the comforting water over his stomach. It was a very normal, ordinary position. His skin ached and his muscles burned all day every day now. Amoux said it was his body preparing for what it would go through in a few weeks time. The water helped though.

 

_That and Fenrir assures me part of the alpha mate’s duty is to attend to such ailments._ The thought made him smirk. It was all still unnerving – terrifying even, but in moments like this, it was easier.

 

“I’m just nervous. I know I don’t have a moon heat as such but I still feel… _something_ under the moon, that should help with any lasting inhibitions, right?” he murmured. The last few moons he’d just been wrought with shivers and aching muscles, yearning for Fenrir’s presence, desperate for it to the point of pain.

 

Fenrir splashed water up over his chest, his callous thumbs flicking his recently oversensitive nipples. Harry gasped, his fingertips digging into Fenrir’s muscled thighs. It was only _just_ this side of painful, but then, Fenrir knew that, hence the dark chuckle in his flushed ear.

 

“If it’s what you truly want, you’ll be fine tonight,” was all the wolf said, massaging his chest and shoulders with effective firmness. Harry groaned. Then his mate added more seriously, “I won’t hurt you. But if I make you feel overwhelmed at any point tonight, use magic to escape me if you need to.”

 

Harry froze. “You’re giving me permission to use magic on you? But you had wizard magic–”

“You’re not a wizard,” Fenrir said quickly, as if he weren’t really keen on the idea of his mate using magic against him. Whether werewolf or wizard magic, it went against the grain to use magic on each other, Harry had learned that from Accalia in his first lesson…

 

“I know you won’t hurt me, I won’t need to,” Harry said after a moment or two, staring down at where those hands now caressed either side of his bump. He thought he’d seen Fleur’s belly-button flip inside out the last time she’d flaunted her pregnant stomach at them all. Would his not do the same just because he was a man? Or maybe his bump just wouldn’t get big enough? _She must’ve had her baby by now,_ he realised with a pang. He and Ron had joked about Bill panicking upon being struck by fatherhood for the first time. But it he’d ended up missing it and the birth of Remus and Tonks’ baby too…

 

A fluttering brush of movement inside drew him back to the present. Fenrir’s hands shifted to follow the movement. He could _feel_ the stubbly smile at his neck. Yes. Maybe if things had been different he would actually have chosen this life for himself. Just maybe. It was becoming harder and harder to imagine things turning out any differently these days; to imagine life without the pack, Fenrir and his little bludger.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, the baby thumped him harder this time and Harry gasped. How could something so small be so strong – werewolf or not?

 

“Mmm. My son is ready to be born soon,” Fenrir chuckled.

 

_“When I think about it, I picture a son in my head.”_ Fenrir had said that and stuck with it ever since. Harry wondered if the wolf was right. It was hard to think about it as anything but a tiny pink wriggly body at the moment. Eithne had told him all of the gory details her own son (Fenrir’s ‘mother’) had enlightened her with so he was prepared as was possible. It hadn’t really helped any, to know all of it, in fact he felt even more daunted by the prospect of leaving a lot of it to ‘instinct’.

 

“It won’t call me mum will it?” he asked, trying to push away the image Eithne had unwittingly woven in his mind.

 

Fenrir snorted. “He’ll call you whatever you want him to.”

 

Harry smirked, closing his eyes as those rough hands seemed to speak in hand signals to his little bludger. It felt nice. Like what a real family should have been like. He wondered if his parents ever sat like this when his mum was having him. “What did you call your parents?” he asked, relaxed, that was, until he felt the body beneath him stiffen and the hands on his stomach freeze.

 

There was silence for a long time.

 

“Alpha,” Fenrir said slowly, deliberately, as if each syllable was too heavy to carry off his tongue, “and dad.”

 

Harry had a really, really hard time imagining what Fenrir must’ve been like as an infant but the ominous echo of Eithne’s words haunted him.

 

_“Fenrir was forced to grow up very quickly after seeing his family butchered like cattle before his very eyes. He hasn’t been able to express his affection easily since that day, and like you, has feared opening himself up completely, lest he lose everything all over again.”_

If Hermione had been here, she probably would have thwacked him for his insensitive, bumbling curiosity. He swallowed hard and squirmed in the man’s lap to face him. Kneeling over him once more, he could now look down into his face. He frowned at the aggression he saw there. If he hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have recognised it for hurt and mourning.

 

“We’re both orphans you know,” he said, not knowing what else to say. It was a fact, not a comfort, but what comforting words were there for this situation? “We both watched our parents die–”

 

“You were too young to be able to remember yours dying,” Fenrir said sharply, trying to shove him off. In what was perhaps a low move, Harry seized those hands and put them back on his belly. Little bludger thumped against one hard, stilling Fenrir for a moment. The man’s words had stung, but Harry had dealt with worse from Snape and at least this he understood.

 

Fenrir was angry because he thought what he felt was a weakness. He was angry because he’d lost them and hadn’t been able to stop it. Harry knew what that anger felt like – he could still taste it when he thought about Sirius.

 

“Do you know what a dementor is?” Harry asked bluntly, before Fenrir’s glare made him remember – _of_ _course_ he had, he was in Azkaban with them! _Idiot!_ Licking his lips in awkwardness, he ploughed on. “They made me relive it – as crystal clear as if I were seeing it all over again at thirteen years old instead of one. So I saw and heard it all.” The thought of what the dementors must have made Fenrir relive made him falter then. He winced, continuing.

 

“I’m sure you heard what happened in the Department of Mysteries as well,” he added, more quiet and subdued now. It was all coming out wrong.

 

“Yeah, your godfather – great sport that was in _His_ circle, how Black’s death affected you,” Fenrir said bitterly. “Lestrange used to chant it to herself, that she killed him – even when no one was there to listen…”

 

Harry grit his teeth. That wasn’t what this was about. He was meant to be making Fenrir feel better, not making himself feel worse. “I… I watched him die – he was right next to me. He…he died because he came to save me…”

 

Silence.

 

And then…

 

“His cell wasn’t that far from mine,” Fenrir muttered, his expression slightly distant but just as grave. “When I’d howl and tear myself apart during the full moon – frenzied because I couldn’t hunt, rut or run, I’d hear an animal trying to communicate to me. I thought I was going mad at the time. Wasn’t until I got out and heard that Pettigrew rat boasting to another Death Eater how he revealed Black as a dog animagus that I realised it must’ve been him though.”

 

Fenrir snorted then. “I bet Black wouldn’t have concerned himself with me if he’d known who he was comforting though. We never saw anything but the four walls of our cell, see, so no one knew what was going on. No one except Dementors came near our end of the prison. The so-called ‘food’ was spelled in and waste was spelled out.” He grimaced.

 

Harry frowned. “Sirius was a good man, he wasn’t a murderer – but then I s’pose you know that if you heard Pettigrew… But yeah, anyway, he knew what werewolves suffered if they weren’t allowed to run free with their instincts, he probably would’ve helped you even if he knew that you were – oh.”

 

 

Fenrir’s face was empty and stern again now.

 

_If Sirius knew that he was the wolf that ruined Remus’ life,_ his mind supplied. He inhaled sharply. It suddenly felt wrong to be staring into Fenrir’s face and thinking of Sirius. Sirius would’ve killed him. _He would kill me if he saw me now, like this,_ he thought, biting the inside of his mouth and pushing slowly off of Fenrir’s lap. Two hands gripped his arms, holding him in place. Harry forced himself to look up into those sharp blue eyes. Fenrir had once said he would’ve taken what he did to Remus back, Harry believed him. And the thing with Bill wasn’t all it had appeared at first but…

 

But it still happened. He exhaled shakily. Closing his eyes so that he didn’t have to see Fenrir’s face. _“Can you not see it in his eyes? He fears losing you just as he lost them.”_

“You hurt my friends; Bill and Remus.”

 

“Yes,” Fenrir said unequivocally.

 

Harry nodded. “This is so fucked up.”

 

A low, reassuring and apologetic growl rumbled gently from Fenrir’s lips. Harry opened his eyes once more.

 

“They’re never going to understand what’s going on here between you and me,” Harry whispered, his own hand dipping down to touch the bump. It finally hit him then that tomorrow Fenrir was heading out to bring Ron and Hermione to him. They would see what he had been up to the last few months. They would know that he…

 

 

The grip on his arms tightened.

 

“They don’t have to understand – few humans _could_ understand the things we feel, pet,” Fenrir murmured, his voice slightly softened now at the sight of Harry's confusion. “They just have to accept it. What we have done cannot be undone.” He looked fierce all of a sudden. “And I wouldn’t allow it to be, even if it could.”

 

Harry struggled to escape the intensity of that gaze but failed. He turned his head away instead, staring at the steam rising from the water around them. “You don’t understand, they’ll _hate_ me. They’ll think I’ve gone bloody mad!”

 

“Look here,” Fenrir said sharply, shaking him a little to ensure he had his full attention. “I don’t know or care about the inner workings of a wizard’s mind, but if they give two flying fucks about you they’ll get over it. Got it? Don’t make yourself or my son ill by worrying about such bloody stupid things! I won’t allow it!”

 

Harry glared at him.

 

“I can’t turn my emotions off! I care whether they hate me or not, alright? They matter to me. So they should matter to you!”

 

“Humans don’t live that long, they get over things much quicker than magical creatures like us.”

 

Harry growled in frustration, wrenching himself out of Fenrir’s arms successfully at least and turning to lean against the opposite side of the sunken pool. Resting his head on his arms, which were perched on the edge, he kept his back to Fenrir. How had an attempt at getting to know him ended in this row? “I’ve been a human far longer than I’ve been a werewolf, you need to remember that before you open your big gob,” Harry muttered darkly.

 

Another of those dreaded silences fell. Then the water swayed, lapping at his flesh as he felt Fenrir move towards him. Two arms caged him in, large hands resting on the edge either side of him. The wolf leant in, resting his forehead against the back of Harry's head. A deep, frustrated sigh disturbed the hair there.

 

“I think without speaking, you should’ve noticed by now,” Fenrir muttered. “You pissed me off talking about my parents, and then all this crap… Look I don’t give a shit if you’re ashamed of me, that’s fine, since you’re stuck with me anyway and I get to keep you no matter what they think. Or am I wrong in thinking that lately you don’t seem to mind being stuck with me so much?”

 

Harry stilled.

 

“Am I wrong, pet?” Fenrir muttered, his voice husky now. That stubbly mouth caressed the back of his neck.

 

Harry gave a small, barely noticeable gasp. The smile against his skin told him that the other man had noticed, however. Damn him. Harry sighed in defeat. He was making this about him, going over things Fenrir had already apologised for, things he’d forgiven back when he’d had some insight into the real Fenrir Greyback. What he was having trouble with was how he felt about how easy it had been to forgive them. That wasn’t Fenrir’s fault, it was only his own.

 

Biting the inside of his lip he turned his head a fraction to the side, allowing Fenrir to nuzzle into his throat as a sign of accepting his apology. He wasn’t really angry with him after all, only himself. _And I’m scared of what Hermione and Ron will say when they see me,_ he thought. _Will they think I’ve abandoned them to shack up with a werewolf?_ He winced at that, longing for the moon heat to overcome him so he could forget all of his suffocating troubles for a while.

 

“I only meant that I understand how you feel,” Harry said after some time, going back to what they had originally been discussing. “You know, losing people, watching them die and not being able to do a thing. I wanted you to know…” _To know you’re not alone,_ he finished in his head, unable to voice that aloud. He steeled himself for his next words. “Will you tell me about that night?”

 

Fenrir flinched.

 

There could be no doubt that Fenrir understood which night he meant, Harry thought, judging by that reaction. The night Fenrir Greyback lost everything. “Only if…you know, it’ll help,” Harry added belatedly, realising how that had sounded. But if he was tied to this man forever he wanted them to know each other better and whereas his, Harry's history was public knowledge, Fenrir Greyback was a mystery. “I don’t even know why or how long you were in Azkaban for,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

 

Fenrir pressed his nose harder into the marked side of his throat, inhaling him deeply. “When they attacked the pack,” the alpha growled, “I wanted revenge, I was young and strong – I joined _Him_ then, Echo, Hemming and Marrok, they followed me like fools right to him. _Tergarletum_. In exchange for my services, he leant me his sources to hunt down some of those responsible. I found them soon enough, laughing it up in a nearly deserted muggle pub. I tortured them, but I enjoyed revenge too much – I fucking loved it, alright? They were all half drunk and screaming blue murder, throwing sloppy hexes at me….”

 

Turning in the man’s arms, Harry waited patiently. He watched Fenrir hasten to disguise the sudden pain that touched his features with bravado.

 

“But two kids got caught in the crossfire. Apparently anyway – I remember seeing them but I don’t remember their-” he glanced at Harry for a moment. “I didn’t taste blood that young that night, they must’ve been hit by some stray spell or something. Or maybe I did kill them, like they say, it’s been so many years of hearing all that shit, I’m not sure what’s true and what’s not anymore.” His teeth grated together then, clenching the way Harry's did sometimes.

 

“Either way, I hesitated and they got me,” he continued, his voice lower than before, “It was chaos. The Ministry couldn’t exactly announce that I was avenging their murdering half my pack, men, women and children – even the corrupt wizarding world wouldn’t have liked that spin on things…”

 

Harry nodded. “That’s why they started the rumours that you stole and ate children,” he said, understanding now.

 

“Probably,” Fenrir said bluntly. “One of the tricks _‘The Hunt’_ used to cover their tracks was to fiddle the Werewolf Registry – can’t miss what _legally_ never existed, yeah? So they erased all record of any pack before they took it out. My records were already gone by the time they arrested me, so the bloody stupid Wizengamot didn’t realise I was a werewolf. Ulric came to me in the holding cell, fucking old twit – he was my parents’ beta wolf…”

 

Harry blinked in surprise at that.

 

“Oh yeah,” Fenrir smirked, the expression not touching his eyes. “Took over while I was off looking for throats to rip out in revenge. He told me what I was to say to the Wizengamot – pretend to be some old tramp that didn’t know what day it was. He’d found out what _The Hunt_ had been up to. Apparently they disbanded shortly after I tore their leaders to shreds in a common muggle pub – bit off-putting, that I suppose.”

 

Harry had an image he would never dare try and describe aloud. A young man in pain, traumatised from seeing his family murdered, wallowing in prison, in guilt for the deaths of two young children that he may or may not have been responsible for. It was hard to connect this man to that boy, but he knew that is what it must have been. The picture only grew more vivid the longer he felt Fenrir’s pain swell in his chest.

 

“So,” he began hesitantly, when Fenrir had been silent for some time. “They _didn’t_ arrest you?”

 

Fenrir snorted. “Not then. Not even when Lupin tried to tell them I was a werewolf – he was the only one who saw through me.”

 

“Remus?” Harry asked, shocked.

 

“Lupin Senior,” Fenrir corrected with a sneer. “Nasty piece of work. Said all werewolves were _‘_ _soulless, evil, deserving of nothing but death_ ’ – they didn’t believe him of course, sent me on my way with an apology. _The Hunt_ couldn’t interfere with that verdict in case they were exposed. They let me go, but when some old coot made to use a memory charm I took his wand, freed Echo, Hemming and Marrok and disappeared.”

 

“But?” Harry suggested, for he could sense there was something else. Something that, for some reason, Fenrir wanted to avoid telling him. He saw the man’s jaw work as he grinded his teeth. “What happened when you were escaping?” What was he hiding?

 

Those icy blue eyes locked on him then with grim determination. “On the way out, I saw Lupin – _your_ Lupin standing there with his old man. Must’ve been about four, maybe five…” He studied Harry's face as slowly, warily, he proceeded. “He was bruised, weak, crying. We could smell…smell the _indecent_ things that had been done to him. His father was standing there in the corner with him, all I could hear was the old bastard’s voice saying ‘ _don’t tell your mother’_ …”

 

Harry felt something in his gut twist with disgust. “You thought his dad had abused him. That’s why you snuck into his bedroom and bit him. You were going to take him with you,” Harry murmured, his voice low, almost inaudible. It wasn’t a question he had asked, but a statement made. He understood it now and could see it all so painfully clearly.

 

Fenrir just looked at him.

 

“H-How…how did you realise it wasn’t his dad that abused him?” Harry asked thickly, not sure what else to say. Did Remus know all this? He didn’t think so. Why exactly did he think his turning had occurred? Did he think what everyone else did about Fenrir? That he was a child-biting murderer? The thought made him quite sick.

 

“When I snuck into the room, the boy was even worse than before. Abused, covered in semen and blood and shaking like a leaf,” Fenrir grunted, not looking Harry in the eye now. His disgust was evident but so was his self-deprecation, his loathing for the fact that he had made such a fatal mistake. Harry had never seen him look guilty before. Not ever. It was a revelation.

 

“He was so weak. I bit him, told him it’d make him strong.” Fenrir winced then, snarling to himself. “But that’s when I noticed, the…the _semen_ in him. It didn’t smell like Lupin Senior – it was someone else. I’d fucked up and as soon as I realised, _your_ Lupin’s dad came charging in and drove away the _‘soulless, evil’_ werewolf that had infected his son.”

 

Harry remembered Fenrir telling him that after this mistake, the pack had tried to help the Lupins with their son, but that Dumbledore had interfered somehow. He wondered what that meant, but at the same time, didn’t want to know. He’d found out enough about Dumbledore lately that he didn’t know whether to believe. He grimaced, realising how much of a child he still must be, to want to hide from anything else that might tarnish someone he so respected and cared for. Who cared for him too – he thought at least.

 

“From then on my name and face were posted across the wizarding world,” Fenrir continued, in an attempt at detachment. “It took them a long time but they caught me in the end.Bloody stupid – they put out a fake call posing as a pack that wanted to meet with me and got me that way. They sent me down for a variety of crimes, some that I committed and some they made up. I was there for nearly seven years. I made my escape when Lestrange and the others were liberated from that _place._ ”

 

“And Echo and Ulric took care of the pack while you were away?”

 

Fenrir nodded. Such a long time to suffer alone in the dark at the hands of the dementors, reliving the tragedy of losing everyone. If Fenrir was corrupt, it was easy to see why. Maybe even understandable, maybe. Harry wasn’t that self-righteous that he couldn’t see that Fenrir was just another being in just as much pain as him, if not more. That he needed someone – maybe even deserved someone. When had he come to care so bloody much about how Fenrir felt?

 

“How old are you?” he asked, the recent revelations only just making him realise how much older Fenrir must be. Werewolves (the ones that accepted their ‘nature’ as Fenrir and his pack did) aged far slower than even wizards. Harry had discovered that in his lessons with Amoux and Accalia. Accalia for example, had revealed he was nearly forty years old despite looking as chipper and fresh as a twenty-six year old.

 

It was unnerving that he had lived with this man as a lover, let him do things to him that he was too embarrassed to even _name_ and he didn’t even know how old he was! Echo and Marrok were around his age, he assumed, but that gave nothing away. Vilkas seemed to be aging normally enough. _Will my child grow normally?_ He wondered distantly.

 

“I was seventeen when they killed my family and half my pack – that was in 1964,” Fenrir said with another broad smirk that didn’t touch his eyes. Eyes that were gazing hard into Harry's. So hard it hurt. “Fifty-one, pet.”

 

“Oh.” Fenrir looked older than he was, that was for sure, but not that old. He would age slowly now too, he remembered Accalia explaining. It was a disconcerting thought. “Will the baby age slowly too?”

 

Fenrir always looked so pleased whenever he expressed concern for the cub, it made Harry feel a little guilty for his earlier behaviour. Even if it was understandable, as everyone kept assuring him.

 

“He will be born small, all werewolves are,” Fenrir explained. “Mentally he will develop normally. Physically he will grow faster to catch up until at a year old, he’ll be the size of what you would consider a normal human kid. Then he’ll continue to age normally until the end of puberty when it’ll all slow down.”

 

That was reassuring, Harry thought. He wouldn’t be expected to be chasing after a toddler in a few months time. He would have the chance to try and get his head round things a bit more before the baby started to really understand that he, Harry didn’t have a bloody clue what to do with himself. He’d have a chance, at least, to grow with little bludger – or at least he hoped he would.

 

A chance to try and make things right with his _other_ father too, before he realised what a pair of bloody idiots they were.

 

Harry took a deep breath. “And will you tell me about that night?” he asked again. There was only one night in question, the night that started it all. He would only ask once more, he swore to himself. If Fenrir refused this time, he would permit him his privacy. He knew what it was like to be have his painful past prodded and examined after all. Wanting them to know each other better, to understand each other better was not as important as how the other man felt about it. He felt his skin tingle with the slightest flush at that thought. Yes, it was unavoidable. Fenrir’s feelings (however well disguised) had become important to him somewhere along the way.

 

Suddenly, that familiar, coarse, husky voice dragged him back to the present. “I’ll tell you,” the alpha murmured against his hair, his tone betraying a slither of defeat. One of his huge hands slid down to caress little bludger again, as if reminding himself of the main reason they had to make more of an effort with each other. “But once and only once,” he added swiftly, “so you’d better listen good.”

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	16. Inner Magic

**WARNING!** The first scene of this chapter may be hard for some of you to take. It was hard for me to write so I will understand if you don't read it. Skip to where the huge chunk of italics stop if you're of the faint-hearted. It contains a flashback to the day Fenrir lost everything and whilst it will give you some insight into why he is the way he is, it isn't necessary to read if you don't think you can stomach it. please don't say I didn't warn you!

 

Name/History key: in the flashback, Adair and Shae are Fenrir's parents, Fenrir is 17, Louden, Lyall and Llora (the triplets) are 11 and Wolfram is 6.

 

Adair - pronounced AH [apple] DARE [dare]

Louden - pronounced LOUW [loud] DUN [as you say the end of 'London']

Lyall - pronounced LIE [lie] ULL [pull]

Llora - pronounced the same as 'Laura'

Wolfram - pronounced Wolf-ram as you would expect

 

Thank you again to everyone reading/reviewing or both. Your support means the world to me. Please enjoy!

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

.: Chapter Sixteen :.

Inner Magic

 

 

_There was an uneasy tension in the forest today. They always headed out just after the full moon when everyone was at their most relaxed and the forest wasn’t on edge, sensing their transformation. But it didn’t feel right somehow. Fenrir frowned from where he sat in the boughs of a tree, arms crossing his chest. It was made even worse by the fact that he’d been lumped with watching the cubs._

_The triplets were tussling about like wolves in human form in the dirt, Louden and Lyall snapping and snarling at each other, while Llora kept herself on all-fours, poised on the tips of her fingers and toes, ready to pounce on them both. It was funny how being out in the arms of nature right after a full moon always brought out the animal in them. Fenrir snorted in annoyance at the eleven-year-olds. He wanted to be out running through the trees, helping his parents with the hunt, not babysitting._

_A snap of a branch from above had him rolling his head back on his shoulders to see Wolfram was leaping boldly from branch to branch, his chubby little six-year-old body getting less and less clumsy every day. “You know you’re a wolf and not a squirrel, right?” he called up to the little mousey-haired boy, who beamed down at him in response. Fenrir tried valiantly not to let his mask of indifference slip._

_“I’m getting really strong!” Wolfram squealed, dangling from a branch by just his arms, his bare toes dancing midair just above Fenrir’s head._

_Fenrir rolled his eyes, yanking the boy down by a foot so that he wouldn’t have to see the boy’s assets dangling there any longer. Werewolves didn’t care about nudity in the way humans did, but he still didn’t want to see it that close up! To his surprise, Wolfram landed nimbly on his toes on the branch._

_“Strong as an ox,” Fenrir murmured gruffly._

_“Strong as Alpha!” Wolfram declared solemnly, his little face suddenly very serious._

_Fenrir couldn’t help it. Despite how irritated he was, he ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, but as he did so, the wind picked up a fraction and he caught a foreign scent on the air. He frowned, glancing around them. There were lots of them – wizards and witches. He could smell blood too,_ werewolf _blood. At that moment, the oblivious triplets below let out squeals of delight, howling as if at the moon as Llora pounced on the boys and they rolled in the mud._

_“Shut it!” Fenrir hissed down at them urgently. As ever, they ignored him. He glared at Wolfram. “Stay here, no matter what happens and don’t make a sound, got it?” Fenrir said sternly. Wolfram’s ice-blue eyes were wide and anxious. He had smelt the blood and the strangers too, although he was too young to know what it meant. He edged forwards when Fenrir rolled up onto his toes, grabbing Fenrir’s arm._

_“Please!” He whimpered. “Don’t leave me. Stay here with me – please!”_

_Fenrir winced. “Stay here, I need to get the other three up here. I’ll be right back, alright? I promise,” he said. Wolfram didn’t want to let him go, but Fenrir forced him to, yanking his arm out of reach and giving him a final commanding glance before dropping to the forest floor._

_“Oi! Fucking listen to me for once!” he snarled at the triplets under his breath, seizing Llora by her hair and yanking her up off the other two. As he now held the ringleader, the other two stopped dead and stared up at him. Rarely had they seen him this incensed and now they had stopped, it seemed they too could smell it – the danger in the woods around them._

_“_ Now _you realise,” Fenrir grunted, dropping Llora to her feet. “Get up in the tree with Wolfram and stay quiet. The leaves are thick enough that you can’t be seen from the ground.”_

_The identical brown-haired boys stared up at him, then looked to their sister – all three children seemed apprehensive. “We need to go find Alpha and Dad,” Llora whispered, rubbing her arms up and down as she stared around the forest. Even the birds had stopped singing now. The sense of urgency, the need to get them out of sight was fraying Fenrir’s temper. With a snarl he reared back, letting the change take him until he stood as a silver wolf before them both. It was something he’d only done a few times before outside the full moon, but he had a feeling it was the only way he’d get them to obey._

_Snapping his jaws he butted Llora with his head, shoving her toward the tree. She glanced at him uncertainly before inclining her head in surrender and bolting off toward the tree. Fenrir followed, bowing his head to let her step on it to boost her up into the safety of the branches. Lyall followed her up without a word but Louden paused on the ground, watching him carefully._

_Footseps were approaching them. Fenrir, for the first time in his life felt afraid. He grunted at his younger brother, gesturing with his head for him to climb up._

_“I’m scared, Fenrir,” the boy whispered, “Dad and Alpha–”_

_Fenrir growled warningly, bearing his teeth in a way that could only say,_ ‘I am the alpha right now’. _Louden blinked once, twice before leaping up into the branches with a helping shove from Fenrir’s muzzle. Once all four were up there and out of sight, Fenrir shimmied backwards, intending to leap up with them – to keep them in order and silent but before he could, a sharp, blistering pain had exploded in his side._

_“Got one lads!” Someone shouted. A flare of red light erupted in the clearing, then a foreboding_ hiss _of silver. Fenrir glanced down just as another burst of agony ripped through his ribs. Two silver arrows lay deep in his side, burning his flesh with a sickening sizzling. He howled, whirling around and lunging for the white-blond wizard that raised his wand again. This time Fenrir saw the spell, saw the red light that bore the silver arrow and dodged it – just in time. He rolled in the dirt and snapped his jaws,_ just _missing the blond’s arm._

_“Get him!” a crowd of voices cried. Light, silver and pain burst through the air. Fenrir howled in agony as five more arrows pierced him. Dropping to the floor under the searing pain, he cried out. His parents, Ulric, Echo, Marrok, the rest of the pack were all out here somewhere. But then, as the crowd of men stood over him, he caught sight of the silver hexagram emblazoned on their crisp black robes. They were_ The Hunt. _Everybody else was either dead or in just as much trouble as he was now._

No one is coming to save us, _he thought, loathing how pitiful he sounded even in his own mind. The only small mercy was that the cubs were safe in the tree. He grit his teeth. The silver was starting to get to him, burning his blood like acid. He whined, unable to stop himself, unable to move even as the group of nine spread him out so that he was in a deformed star shape – belly in the dirt._

_He felt cold despite how the silver burned. He’d never felt so cold…_

_“Pin him down!” The white-haired wizard sneered. Fenrir had enough strength to turn his head_ just _enough to see them conjure five great silver stakes, as big as rail-road spikes. They hovered the air above him, each joined to all of the others by a silver webbing that glowed ominously. Fenrir knew what it was. He struggled in the dirt to move but he couldn’t. All he could do was grit his teeth together and try not to scream as the stakes were driven down in through each of his legs and tail._

_But he did howl. He knew the cubs could hear but he couldn’t stop._

_The netting burned his flesh and fur as it pinned him to the earth. Oh fuck it burned._ Make it stop!

_A bone-chilling howl that had nothing to do with him ripped through the clearing then. Two huge wolves flew into sight, a flash of black and silver told him it was his parents. He should have felt relief at their presence, but he knew with a sense of foreboding that they were all doomed._

_The forest was illuminated with silver and red flashes, the air thick with yelps of pain and screams. Wizards fell but Fenrir heard more replacing them, heard their screams increase tenfold – heard his alpha howl in sheer agony at the same time as his dad yelped._

_“Shae!” Adair cried with his humanoid lungs._

_Fenrir would forever curse the instinct that made him crane his neck to see what had happened. That sight would stay with him forever. His alpha was cradling his dad’s body, which was crumpled, legs sticking out at odd angles, blood pooling on the forest floor under his frame that was shaking and writhing in reaction to the silver. A sickening smoking, bloody froth was erupting over his lips, burning his mouth and chest as it spilled out._

_There must have been thirty silver arrows in him, poisoning his veins and Fenrir winced and cried at the sight, the sound of his dad trying to speak through his burning throat. “F-Fenrir – the cubs, Ad-air!” Shae gasped and choked, burning from the inside out. “Mmmgh…boys…my little girl,” he choked, his one good hand shaking with spasms as it shoved frantically at Adair’s chest to make him leave. “P-Pleaghze!” Adair cried and screamed in unison, swiping at the wizard that leapt for them and sending a great wave of blinding magic slicing through him. The wizard fell in several pieces to the soiled forest ground while Adair stood, tearing the three arrows from his own arm and torso._

_The alpha wolf’s eyes glowed gold as he let the change carry him into the form of a jet black wolf. He lunged for the nearest human, his great jaws locking around its head and biting down, shaking it like a ragdoll. Adair spat his remains on the earth and moved to the next._

_In the midst of it all, Fenrir saw Shae roll his bloodied head of silvery blond hair to look at him. Those ice-blue eyes were so piercing, even among the gore that had become his face and body. Fenrir whined in apology for his failure. He hadn’t been able to help, hadn’t been able to move. He still couldn’t move. Everything was getting fuzzy…_

_“Mmmgh boy…my best…boy,” Shae gurgled sickeningly, reaching out as if to touch him but unable to do anymore with his limbs still writhing like the body of a headless serpent. Then he lay still and moved no more._

_“Kill him! Kill the alpha wolf!” A voice cried. The forest reeked of blood. Other wolves had fallen, other cries, those of people he had known and grown with all his life were screaming out their last breaths to the sky. His mother’s dead eyes were watching him from across the clearing. Fenrir felt the silver burn his bones now, he leant into the pain, bit down on his gums and reared up with a snarl of fury._

_The silver stakes and net burst into flames as he found power in his rage. Running on nuclear adrenaline he flew forwards, tearing the arm clean off the wizard who raised it to defile his mother’s dead body. A bone-crunching swipe of his paw sent the screaming urchin sprawling back into the dirt, choking on the blood from his pierced lungs. Fenrir roared, but as he turned he met his alpha’s golden gaze, wide and stunned from the silver stake that had pierced his heart._

_“The alpha is dead!”_

_“Burn the forest down!”_

_“Daddy!” The voices of his siblings were the last thing Fenrir heard as he stared into his alpha’s dying eyes, before the nearest trees exploded._

_“NO!” Fenrir screamed, ripping the arms off the wizard that had sent the trees ablaze with his own human hands. There were only three humans left now. The white-blond wizard sent a silver stake through Fenrir’s calf, nailing him to the ground again where he lay beside his alpha’s body, listening to the children scream their last screams._

_“NO!” he cried. He wrenched his leg free but it tore the ligaments so badly he couldn’t move. He tried anyway. He slumped forward in the dirt and howled, slamming his fists down in the dirt when he could do nothing but listen._

_“Kill the boy,” a wizard sneered, gesturing to Fenrir. “Then we must go, before the aurors can respond to all that howling the local villages must’ve reported.”_

_Fenrir’s claws curled in the bloodied dirt. He dug deep, rooting himself into the earth and strained every tendon in his abused body as he called on his last strength. He glared up at the sky and watched as the sunlight faded, as dark, heavy clouds covered the heavens at his bidding and flashed with lightning, roiled with thunder. It clapped and roared the way he felt inside. Rain burst from their depths and doused the flames the wizards had conjured._

_But it wasn’t enough. His brothers and sister were silent, no sound came from the tree and Fenrir couldn’t bear to look up at the charred remains of the tree itself to see if there was anything of them left. He couldn’t bear it._

_The heavens howled along with him, the rain swept across the forest and lightning bolted down, striking two of the wizards down dead where they stood. The other apparated before the third stroke of lightning could reach its target. Fenrir rooted his fingers deep into the dirt. So much blood, so much suffering, death and misery. He felt tears stream down his bloodied cheeks, swore he felt parts of him snap under the strain to make his useless magic do something, anything to make it better._

_What was magic for if it couldn’t make it better?_

_“Fenrir? He’s over here!” He could hear Echo’s voice in the distance. Fenrir was panting now, longing for the magic in his body to spread through the earth to his parents’ corpses, to bring their lives back, to bring his siblings back. His chest was heaving, not just from exertion but crying and snarling out his agony. He was still bleeding. Silver was still pumping through his body._

_He was dizzier than ever now. He pushed his fingers so hard into the ground that they broke. He still pushed. “Please!” he gasped, choking and shaking as the rain soaked him, the thunder still rumbling above. He wanted it to rain and rain until it washed it all away, until it made it good again. “You can have all my magic, all my blood – everything! Just PLEASE!” he screamed, to whoever would listen, to whatever force lay behind this madness. “PLEASE HELP ME!”_

_“Fenrir!” Echo called from closer now, and then, “oh my God…”_

_The sound of Echo’s horror-struck gasp and the last low grumbling of thunder was the last Fenrir heard before his body and magic finally gave out and he blacked out, face-first in the mud._

 

 

Harry lay silent for a long time after Fenrir's husky, emotion-abraded voice had died in the suddenly solemn quiet. His head was resting on one of the man's broad shoulders, shoulders that had carried such a burden all alone, all this time. Harry bit the inside of his mouth as he struggled to find something, _anything_ comforting to say. But he could find nothing to eradicate that hurt. His life with the Dursleys, without his parents and growing up facing so many trials in the wizarding world, it had been hard but Fenrir's suffering seemed more brutal somehow. 

 

 What'd happened to him, Harry had been awful but he'd never seen anyone burned alive or his parents butchered in front of him like animals. He thought of Cedric's life blasted from his eyes by blinding green light, his own parents' final screams...

 

  _Because a good majority of the people in the wizarding world still think he's a monster,_ his mind supplied. _Because my world did this to him and some of them out there would probably still think that what_ The Hunt _did was right._ And they'd done it not just to Fenrir's pack, but all of them.

 

 Letting out a long, slow breath, Harry slid his hand across Fenrir's where it rested on his swollen stomach. The man's hand hadn't moved the whole time he'd been speaking. As if his touch now could protect his cub the way he hadn’t been able to protect his family.

 

“And then you went after them, tracked them down like you said in the pub that night. Were _The Hunt_ disbanded after you killed most of them?” Harry asked at last, grabbing at something, _anything_ to break the suffocating silence.

 

 Fenrir snorted. “They couldn't afford to regroup with my case drawing so much attention from the public eye,” he replied stiffly, voice still sounding pained and distant, as if his mind was still back there with his dying family. “Besides the damage had been done. There are very few packs left in Britain, only a few nomads and then the registered ones like your Lupin, trying to fit in where they don't belong.”

 

 Harry winced at the bitterness in his voice. After a moment he sat up slightly on one side, looking down at Fenrir's face. Those blue eyes were determinedly avoiding him, unwilling to betray emotion but there was no hiding the agony Harry felt through their connection, humming mournfully in his bones. “You're not the only one to have made mistakes when you were younger,” Harry said. “I've made plenty, I bet I'll make more. You could argue that the wizarding world is in this situation with _Targarletum_ just because his mum made a mistake thinking she could make someone love her with magic.”

 

 Fenrir looked confused for a moment, reminding Harry that he hadn't told Fenrir about Voldemort's history that he'd learned with Dumbledore. Not that that was important now.

 

 “I made your Lupin what he hates most because of that _mistake_ ,” Fenrir said darkly, staring straight into Harry's eyes as if challenging Harry to argue. “He’d probably say that I ruined his life.”

 

 “I know,” Harry said simply. “And I forgive you.” That simple, unexpected reply seemed to startle Fenrir. His brow creased with a frown. He searched Harry's eyes for something for some time and whether he found it or not, he turned onto his side away from Harry, hiding his emotion behind the illusion of sulking.

 

 “Well you know it all now, alright?” he grumbled.

 

 Harry sat up a little more in the bed, dragging a low, resigned sigh from Fenrir's lips. The man didn't turn back to face him though. Harry stared at him from behind, gaze roving the muscles of his back, his arse, his legs unhindered by clothes and uninhibited by embarrassment because Fenrir wasn't _watching him_ look. His skin bore pale, barely visible scars that Harry had seen but never really taken notice of before. They were wide, deep and Harry knew that they came from being lashed with silver the night he'd lost his parents. He winced, reaching out to brush his fingers over the widest one.

 

 Fenrir wrenched back round with a roar, seizing Harry's wrist, eyes blazing. “Don't you fucking dare pity me!” he snarled, enraged.

 

 “It's not bloody pity!” Harry snapped. “It's empathy, it's… _understanding_. I get it now, why you're so-”

 

 “What?!” Fenrir growled. “So fucking _charming? Chivalrous?_ You think you can admit that you want me now? Now you can justify my worst deeds? It's alright now, is it?”

 

 Harry glared, wrenching his hand back. He shifted out of the bed, his enlarged stomach taking away any dramatic effect. He pulled Fenrir's cloak round him and marched over to sit on the circle of furs by the fire, which flared to life at his approach, emitting warmth and light that spread through him as he stared into it. The orange glow pierced him when he thought of a young Fenrir losing everything in the most violent, cruel way possible. It hurt.

 

 Suddenly two warm arms were encircling him, pulling him back to a firm chest. Harry let him, feeling Fenrir's nose and mouth at his nape. Harry breathed out slowly. “You're afraid of losing me and the baby, the rest of the pack like you lost everyone before,” he murmured softly, reaching up to grasp the arms around him. He tilted his head to the side, accepting Fenrir's wordless apology against his neck. “You're afraid you might make a mistake again that costs you everything. You're afraid, angry and bitter but you can't spend every second of life second-guessing yourself. Whatever's coming _will_ come, we just have to face it when it happens.” He waited a heartbeat. “Together.”

 

 Fenrir was silent for a moment, then snorted softly against his neck. “Dumbledore tell you that, did he?”

 

 “Hagrid, actually,” Harry said, staring thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of his friends and what problems they themselves would bring to him and Fenrir when they were reunited again. “I suppose I know why you hate wizards and the world I belong to a bit more now.”

 

 “You belong here with me,” Fenrir said gruffly, his bristly jaw nuzzling into him more determinedly.

 

  Harry didn't answer that – he couldn't answer a question he didn't know the answer to. He loved the valley and the pack, but he loved his friends too, Hogwarts and Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, Christmases at The Burrow, Quidditch...

 

But then there was a soft kick against his insides and he winced, both at the pain and the realisation that their child would find it hard to live in the wizarding world, if not impossible.

 

 The warmth of the fire licked at his toes. He reached down with one hand, pushing gently with his palm at the little bludger nudging his bladder, trying to shift him into a more comfortable position. At the same time, he imagined the cries of Fenrir's siblings as they were burned alive, just for being born the way they were. Something inside him ached to think of it, boiled with rage and misery all at once. The thought of that fate befalling his little bludger…

 

 _His_.

 

His instincts surged a little under the surface, they were so unnervingly close these days. The push against his baby's backside ended as a softer, concerned caress. Fenrir's large hand came to rest on top of his. He didn't need to speak for Harry to understand. _Fenrir can't survive losing me or the baby,_ he thought.  _Just the thought of it drives him insane._

Even the strongest man is only as strong as his weakest link he supposed. Even Voldemort feared death. Fenrir, the alpha wolf, the one even Voldemort fidgeted uncertainly around – he was scared of losing the people he cared about just as much as Harry. But unlike Harry, who knew that great power came from that love, Fenrir loathed himself for that vulnerability. 

 

 “You saw what I did when Ulric came at me,” Harry said then, “I won't let anyone hurt it.”

 

 “Or you,” Fenrir grumbled, “you're the one that gets into trouble every time you so much as sneeze.”

 

 Harry flushed slightly, but didn't move. “I do know that the wizarding world can be a dark and evil place at times,” he interjected, just so that he was sure Fenrir knew. “Believe me, I've seen my fair share of how corrupt it is.” That was why the valley was such an appealing home to him, he supposed. Filled with an extended family who cared for each other, segregated from the darkness outside – but also from the lighter parts too. The parts that Harry missed with such bone-deep longing that it hurt. “But wherever I go, it's still a part of me. Part of me is still out there. My friends are like _my_ pack, alright? Or, my other pack at least. They're my family.”

 

 Fenrir's grip on him did not ease off but he didn't say anything either. Thanks to their connection, he knew how lost Harry felt when it came to the future. With a war going on, with Voldemort to destroy, they would have to take each day as it came. But after that...

 

 After that terrified them both even more than the war at times, because in the unlikely event that they all got out of this alive, what were they going to do? _What will I do if I lose him?_ Harry wondered, tilting his head so that he could brush his lips against Fenrir's stubble, breathing him in. _Right now, this is good. This is all that matters._

 

 “What those wizards did to your family was disgusting,” Harry said after another pensive silence. “I can't believe that those Ministry officials have the gall to call _you_ monsters. Especially after hushing it all up as well.” When he felt Fenrir tense at the return to the subject of his family, Harry reached up with his free hand to scratch lightly at the back of Fenrir's neck, holding him still, forcing him to accept comfort the way he probably hadn't since he was seventeen years old.

 

He thought of all the unhelpful words that people had offered him when he’d watched Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore die. _It’ll get easier. You’ll be alright. Life goes on. They’re in a better place. I’m sure it didn’t hurt._ And his favourite, _it wasn’t your fault._

 

Fenrir had lived with this weight for decades, he’d probably heard all of them and they’d probably been as helpful to him and they’d been to Harry. So Harry just dragged his fingers through those silver locks, tugging until Fenrir’s head lifted from his neck and his lips were _just_ next to Harry's. Close but not touching. “I know I’m not much of a consolation, but I’m here,” he murmured. At the awkward angle he could only _just_ see Fenrir’s eyes, but in that moment they were brightest, electric blue.

 

“There must be some good in the wizarding world shithole if they made you,” Fenrir mumbled, kissing the corner of his mouth. His stubble tickled. Harry's light growth had stopped since he’d gotten pregnant. _Hormones,_ Amoux had told him. It felt odd to miss something as inconsequential as facial hair, but he couldn’t wait for it to start growing again. He wanted to just be… _a man_ with Fenrir again, with nothing else between them.

 

“Some parts are amazing. I’ll have to show it to you sometime,” Harry mused lightly. Fenrir kissed his mouth again and offered no other reply. Harry winced. “I know I can’t make up for what they did – no one can. And I know there have been bigoted arseholes since the dawn of time and probably always will be, I just wish I could change them. Change the world for...for this little bludger and for you.”

 

He’d finally gotten said little demon to shift off his bladder. The relief was so profound that he sighed, but didn’t move his hand. It felt good to touch, communicate with it in the only way they could.

 

Fenrir didn’t kiss him again. He held Harry tight to his chest and tipped them both into the comfort of the furs around the fire, pulling the fur cloak from Harry's shoulders so that the heat of his chest could meld against Harry's naked side. He leant slightly over him, staring down into his face with the most thoughtful expression Harry had ever seen. His eyes were dazzlingly bright in the fire, hair hanging over one shoulder. A large hand slid up Harry's stomach, his torso, his chest and to his throat, where it caressed the mark there reverently.

 

“You’ve already changed everything,” Fenrir said, smothering any reply Harry had to offer with his tongue.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry quivered as he felt the pull of the moon sweep over his skin. Even in the den, where he couldn’t see the sky, he knew it was close. Inhaling deeply, he swore he could taste it on the air. It was not so much of a torture now, so much as a _reprieve_ without the urge to mate and rut getting in his way. No, this was the one time he could enjoy submitting and relaxing, letting someone else worry about everything while he forgot his concerns and responsibilities.

 

They had all agreed it would be a good idea for him to wait inside the den with Draco until everyone had undergone the change. Echo and Fenrir would meet the moon outside the door, which Harry would leave open for them to enter alone at first. It would be just as much a trial for Harry as it would be for Draco after all.

 

The blond was sitting by the fire, hunched over and tense opposite him. When the tingling under his skin got too much, Harry stood and began to pace slightly. Little bludger wriggled inside him, excited by the pull of the moon as well it seemed. As he understood it, the cub did not transform, would not until it had seen twelve moons (after being born) but he knew the moon must still affect it somehow. It was always particularly active as each one approached.

 

“You’re growing more attached to the thing,” Draco’s low voice said, drawing Harry back from his thoughts to see those grey eyes fixed on where Harry had (apparently) been subconsciously rubbing his bump. He stopped, awkward and embarrassed.

 

“Err, yeah I suppose,” he replied stupidly. “It’s daunting. I’ve never even held a baby, you know?”

 

Draco didn’t look surprised. “Me either,” the blond said. “I suppose though that if you drop it, a child of yours could not possibly get any stupider.”

 

Harry just snorted at that, having become far too used to the blond’s ways by now. His words didn’t even really phase Harry anymore. Harry opened his mouth to utter a retort, only to have it clap shut again as he felt the call of the moon grow more insistent. Shit. This was it! “It’s coming,” he said.

 

Draco was on his feet in an instant, standing before him quickly, the smug, cocky expression evaporating, replaced by excitement and panic both. They had spent each moon since Draco’s arrival here locked together away from the others, so the blond didn’t question how he knew how close the moon was without being outside. He accepted it, just as he accepted that Harry became more animal too under the moon’s watch.

 

“Stick with me at first, alright?” he said breathlessly, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll use magic to make them leave and shut the door. They know you as pack now, they’ll still be themselves – only more base, instinctual creatures. They won’t hurt you if you follow my lead but _do not_ challenge them. You must submit, always,” he said, stressing the point as much as possible, unintentionally echoing Fenrir’s advice from months before. Draco needed to understand. “Pride doesn’t mean anything to a wolf under the moon. Just…let it go, alright? I’ll try to watch out for you. The first few minutes will be the hardest, once Echo acclimatises to you in that form you’ll be fine. If in doubt just look to me for a visual cue, or lay down and turn your head to the side and expose your throat.”

 

Draco nodded, all arrogance and conceit vanished from sight. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen the blond paying such dutiful, serious attention to anything in his entire life. He wanted this, had truly chosen this for himself. Harry envied that he’d been given the option to choose without any outside factors pressuring him.

 

“Stay close to me, even when we get outside but don’t touch me if you can help it,” Harry explained. “Wolves are funny about their, err… _partners_ , having someone else’s scent on them. Makes them…difficult…” Hence why Harry was wrapped in Fenrir’s fur and Draco wearing Echo’s clothes (that were actually a pretty good fit).

 

It was rising now. Harry could feel it. He licked his dry lips nervously. “And Draco,” he added, voice deadly serious. “He won’t rape or bite you if you refuse him, but don’t lead him on. The baser instincts of the wolves don’t understand second thoughts.”

 

Draco nodded and with that, a piercing cry of the alpha wolf rang through from outside.

 

They both whirled to face the door they had left ajar. It jerked open, ricocheting off the stone wall of the cave. Harry felt Draco jump at the great crash it made but did not move an inch himself. No, he knew better. He stayed perfectly still as he watched the two silhouettes move into the cave and into the light cast by the fire.

 

Fenrir came first, his silver coat glistening as he moved, followed by the tawny coloured wolf Harry knew to be Echo. They both stared with inhuman eyes, sniffing the air slowly as they stalked the den. It was unnerving. even to Harry who knew what to expect. He remained still as stone and Draco followed his example.

 

Suddenly, Fenrir’s entire body stiffened. His eyes fixed on Harry and he shot forwards, faster than even Harry could keep track. Harry flinched as the wolf shunted him backwards. Draco murmured something unintelligible. Echo was still in place, waiting for his alpha to act first. But the sound from the blond had caught the alpha’s attention and he was rounding on Draco now.

 

With movements slow and precise, Harry held Draco’s gaze purposefully as he eased himself down to his knees. Draco got the picture. He continued to glance nervously between each of them as he mimicked Harry's actions. Harry watched between Fenrir’s legs. The wolf backed over him as if to protect him from the unrecognisable newcomer while his huge muzzle skimmed the air just above Draco’s head – back and forth, back and forth.

 

To Harry's relief he saw Draco incline his head to the side. It was a startling image, one that (even in his slightly inebriated state) he was shocked by. He felt a twang of unreasonable jealousy too at the sight of his mate’s muzzle sniffing deeply at another’s throat. No matter how nonsexual and perilous it was.

 

Driven by both a need for his alpha to accept his claimed packmate and to draw his mate’s attention back to him, Harry rolled onto his hands and knees under Fenrir until he was face-to-face with Draco. He eyed the blond for a moment. Yes, he smelled just like Echo. Their alpha’s breath had mussed that perfectly combed hair too. It had gone well, it seemed.

 

Harry stretched up onto the tips of his fingers then to brush his head against Fenrir’s breastbone. He felt the wolf incline his head to lick comfortingly at his neck. That was it. All attention was back on him and his new packmate had been accepted. The blond didn’t move either, which was smart. After a moment of snuffling his neck and shoulders, Fenrir crouched down, covering Harry's body with soft, warm fur without pressing any dangerous weight onto him. But when Harry found himself cushioned between him and the fur rugs on the den floor, panic swept through him. He was trapped!

 

Squirming, he tried to dislodge the body above but failed. He felt Fenrir’s member against his buttocks. It was limp but still there. He let out a desperate whine as if in pain and the scene above him rippled with tension again. At the sound, Draco had instinctively lowered his guard to look at him.

“Are you alright, Potter?” he asked, but as he shifted forwards, Fenrir snarled dangerously, pressing down on Harry more firmly. At the same time, Echo shot toward them, backing the blond away from the alpha pair. There was no recognition in him at first, only warning. He kept moving him until the blond had his back against the cave wall and only then did he look at him properly. His eyes shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Draco gasped and exposed his neck, waiting as Echo cocked his head. The wolf inhaled deeply, shifting about nervously, his tail aloft and wagging with interest.

 

Harry meanwhile shoved back against Fenrir as hard as he could and whined again. This time, the body above him shifted immediately, allowing him freedom without needing to resort to magic. Harry rolled up onto his knees and turned to look directly at his mate. The wolf huffed, looking him up and down as if wondering what had caused his upset. When he saw nothing, however, he just sat and waited, his tail moving back and forth gently as he watched.

 

Harry waited until the panic had subsided and his breathing returned to normal before he approached the wolf again. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Echo’s tail and ears erect with curiosity. It was a good sign, he thought, even in his addled mind as he came to a halt in front of Fenrir. Harry still felt a rush of unease in his belly. He shook slightly and moistened his dry lips as he forced himself to reach forward and pet his mate’s ears.

 

One step at a time. Slowly but surely. He could do this.

 

The great silver wolf bowed his head into his mate’s touch, giving a low pleased rumble in his chest. He wagged his tail encouragingly. Harry smiled and shifted forward so that his other hand could caress the wolf’s cheek and jowls. His hands looked so small as they glided through the fur on that massive head, so much so that his unease piqued again.

 

Fenrir grumbled softly, shifting forwards on his belly, a sign of submission that only he would ever see. It made Harry's breath catch. A cold nose nuzzled at his pregnant stomach then. They both paused. Those bright golden eyes stared up at him. That tail wagged. Harry exhaled slowly, stroking that face and ear again. It was ok. It wasn’t even bad it was just… _hard._

 

On feeling the firm, insistent presence of the alpha’s nose, the cub inside shifted restlessly, as if eager to reach him. Harry smirked, the pull of the moon sweeping over him entirely then. He didn’t care if Malfoy was still in the room with them, he didn’t care about anything. He felt oddly safe as he hadn’t done in the presence of a wolf for so long. It felt right again. Shrugging the fur off his shoulders, he gave a small whine of contentment and petted Fenrir a final time before ambling over to the door that still stood ajar.

 

He wanted to feel the moon on his skin.

 

Fenrir was close on his heels, unwilling to let him out of his sight. He had missed him, was constantly sniffing, licking and brushing against him. Harry relaxed into each caress, sighing as the weight of the world slowly left him. A glance over his shoulder as he reached the door assured him his beta wolf and new pack member were fine. The tawny coloured beast was half-sitting, now curled around the blond and licking diligently at his neck, shoulders and platinum hair.

 

Malfoy was flushed with embarrassment and his grey gaze flickered to Harry briefly in search of reassurance.

 

“Not sexual,” Harry murmured, using all of his strength to force human words out so the blond wound understand. It was a sign of closeness and affection. He smiled almost dreamily as his own wolf lapped at his pregnant stomach, nuzzling the kicking cub gently. He watched the tawny wolf groom his potential mate and whined softly again, before stepping out under the moon’s rays.

 

It was warm and welcoming, like finally coming home. The grass underfoot was cool between his toes, Fenrir’s fur soft against his skin from where he walked alongside him. Ghost came bounding over to him first, yipping and bouncing, yelping as he danced around them. He kept his head low and bottom high, tail swinging and rolled onto his back to flash them his belly.

 

Harry beamed, dropping onto all fours and roughly stroking the wolf’s stomach. The rest of the pack approached, each slow and cautious but with interest piqued – except for the cubs that bounded over the same as Ghost had, pouncing happily on Harry. They yelped and whined cheerfully. Fenrir gave a few overzealous cubs a shove with his paw when they seemed to be getting too excited around his mate’s delicate stomach.

 

When at last Echo and the blond sub walked out to join them together, Fenrir looked down at his mate again. Milky skin seemed to glow under the light of the moon and green eyes glowed like emeralds in the night, shining with happiness. Rearing his head back, Fenrir let loose a deep, ringing howl that swept through the night, echoing through the mountain glade and forest beyond. One-by-one, his packmates joined him, singing a song of unity to all that would listen.

 

Harry glanced around. All of his pack, even the cubs were howling in celebration of his return to them, of their steadfast union as a family, all of them together, safe and warm. The blond was sitting contently at the beta’s side as the wolf howled, looking around at them all in wonder. Harry wished he could find human words to explain to the blond what this moment meant but it seemed he didn’t have to. The blond was smiling too, albeit nervously and seemed to understand what this all meant. He reached up and caressed the tawny wolf’s fur in a mix of awe and affection. When at last the howling ceased, the beta answered his caress with a nudge of his nose and a gentle, toothless nip to his neck.

 

As the evening waned, the dying moonlight found the pack crammed close together in a tight heap of fur. They lay under the cluster of trees in the centre of the valley with limbs knotted together and stretching lazily in contentment. Harry shifted, resting his head on his mate’s furred chest upside down so that the wolf could still lap leisurely at his swollen belly. Vilkas and Amoux were nestled up close to his other side, Marrok’s nose against Harry's shoulders while Accalia’s breath unwittingly teased his foot.

 

Echo was pressed against him and their alpha, his body curled in tight around the blond who met Harry's eyes as the tawny wolf nipped and licked his hair again. Both of them shared a small, tired smile before they drifted, enveloped in the warmth and safety of their peculiar family.

 

 

Harry was the first to wake. With a great stretch he blinked up at the thick canopy above that shielded the sleeping pack from the morning sun. He could see tiny patches of clear blue sky peeping through the gaps between the branches. Looking around, he flushed to find himself completely naked in a sea of limbs – some wolf-shaped and some human. Some of the younger pack members couldn’t hold a form for long outside the full moon night and had changed back as the sun rose. It looked odd, several young children wrapped in the blanket of giant wolves.

 

 _And yet I’d never felt as safe or accepted, as at home as I did last night,_ he thought. Then a heavy ache in his belly reminded him why he had awoken first. He needed to piss. With a wince he climbed out of the bed of fur, using all of the sneaking skills he’d developed at Hogwarts to escape without treading on anyone.

 

Hopping over to the opposite side of the tree he relieved himself in a cluster of bushes there, unwittingly sating the need to mark the territory as well. He didn’t know what he thought about that. Before he had much chance to dwell on it though, something caught his eye.

 

Apparently he hadn’t awoken first.

 

Following the track of movement, he found himself staring at a tussling human-shaped couple on the ground, only the low, hushed grunts and snarls weren’t made in malice. His entire body flushed beet red as he watched Draco and Echo rut against each other in the doorway of Echo’s den (which was closest to where the pack had fallen asleep). Apparently they’d been in such a hurry to relieve some of the unresolved sexual tension they’d neglected to shut the door.

 

Echo’s hands were knotted in Draco’s mussed blond locks at the back of his neck, their mouths locked together with ferocious hunger, only breaking to allow Draco to gasp for air and Echo to lace his face and throat with toothless bites. Their hips were undulating together. Draco’s hands were clawing at Echo’s back and naked arse. They were doing well to stay hushed as Harry could only _just_ hear them now he was listening for it. Magic, he realised dimly, but regardless of the fact that he wasn’t attracted to either of them, or how embarrassed he was, he found he could not look away. And the hand that had been holding his cock as he’d pissed had started stroking himself against his will.

 

Suddenly a thick arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him back tightly to a warm body. Hot breath danced against his neck. He arched it with a soundless whine and a large hand joined his on his swelling erection. Echo and Draco were humping against each other frantically now, their pricks gliding hungrily together, weeping pearly pre-emission. Harry could see it all so clearly from where he stood. He was sure his werewolf senses were not meant to be abused this way. He flushed even darker and turned his head away.

 

“No,” Fenrir’s voice murmured huskily in his ear. “Look at them, pet. They look good together, don’t they?”

 

Harry cracked open his eyes to peek again.

 

“Yes. Look,” Fenrir urged him, pumping his cock firmly in his thick fist. “They suit each other, match each other, _challenge_ each other. They look good together, make sense together – just like we do.” He punctuated his words with a sharp nip to Harry's ear. Harry gasped, squirming in his embrace.

 

“No,” he murmured softly, very aware that the sleeping pack were just the other side of the tree. “Not here!”

 

“Right here,” Fenrir murmured softly. He licked the shell of his ear as he fisted Harry's cock hard and fast, his other hand splaying across his rounded belly before sliding up to flick an almost painfully sensitive nipple. Harry part-gasped, part-groaned and whirled in Fenrir’s grasp. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he threw his arms up around the man’s neck, tugging him down into a hard kiss and when he bore down into Fenrir’s body they both ended up tumbling down onto the soft bed of furs – in their own den.

 

They broke apart breathlessly. Fenrir laughed huskily, yanking him down for another kiss that he punctuated by grazing his mouth along Harry's jaw. “Your magic, pet, you’re using it to get what you want easier and easier–”

 

“I didn’t even realise,” Harry began, only to be silenced as Fenrir rolled him over onto his back, kneeling over him.

 

“You obviously just wanted me so much,” the alpha growled, reaching down to knead his mate’s full, tight balls firmly until Harry's body arched upwards.

 

Harry's fingers and toes curled into the furs. He groaned. staring up at Fenrir’s huge, muscled body as the man moved between his thighs. Fenrir’s hands grasped Harry's buttocks, scraping gently with his claws, riding up to grip his waist. The wolf drew his body up tight to meet his, slamming their lips together with demanding, bruising desire.

 

Gripping his mate with his thighs, Harry rose up into the embrace. Magic and lust were rippling through his veins with fiery hunger. He wanted to sate both. Growling with feral force into the kiss, Harry nipped at his mate’s mouth. He shoved him back, magic enveloping them in a cyclone of heat. It wrenched them bodily from the bed and tossied them down with the urgency and fervour they both felt, leaving Harry on top, straddling Fenrir’s broad hips.

 

With his magic at his disposal once more, more powerful than ever, Harry felt more in tune with everything. Werewolf magic was nothing like wizard magic – it was so earthy, raw and intense. He felt it rumbling under his skin like lava pulsing through a volcano and when he pushed it towards Fenrir, he felt the alpha’s magic pushing back, mingling with his own. He flushed, panting slightly as he reached down with one hand, a little electrical charge of magic rushing through his fingertips to his mate’s chest. It was so much more intimate this way. He was embarrassed and yet confident at the same time.

 

Over the last few days, the more he’d practiced with his restored magic, the more settled, comfortable he became. It was like finding himself once more and yet finding himself better than he’d remembered. He was stronger than ever and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was Fenrir’s doing.

 

_I feel like I can do anything, with him looking at me like this._

 

Fenrir snarled with feral desire when a zap of magic bolted through his nipple under Harry's fingertips. Snatching the devious hand up in his own, Fenrir answered the charge of magic with his own, making Harry roll up onto his knees above him, grinding against his swelling cock.

 

“Fuck,” Harry growled, leaning back on both hands and spreading his legs, arching his back as Fenrir’s hot, calloused fingers slid up his thighs. He scraped gently with his claws, his magic licking across Harry's flesh where it met the current of Harry's own power. They travelled up across his swollen belly, massaging gently and for the first time Harry didn’t feel insecure or feminised. He felt strong and hungry, and powerful, confident enough to sate that hunger just as readily as Fenrir did. He felt like they were equals, just like him and Malfoy had discussed.

 

“Draw your legs up,” Harry murmured, leaning back on Fenrir’s draw up legs as he did so. He gave a breathless smirk down at the man beneath him as he lifted himself slightly, reaching between them to massage Fenrir’s pulsing shaft. The man was oddly quiet underneath him, he wanted to change that. Sweeping his thumb over the glistening head, he drew a sharp hiss from behind those teeth.

 

Pressing the edge of his thumb into the moist slit, Harry let a little jerk of tingling magic vibrate tantalisingly there. Fenrir growled, claws scraping at Harry's hips, urging him back and forth in a slight thrusting motion, as if silently demanding he rut with him harder. Harry smirked. “Why haven’t we ever used magic like this before?” he asked.

 

Fenrir’s eyes were dark with lust. “Couldn’t before, not until you came into your magic too,” the alpha rasped. “This isn’t a spell you’re using. This is both of our magic colliding and creating friction – friction that gives off _heat_ –” His voice cut short in favour of the feral snarl that whisked from his throat. Harry was using the sweat-slicked palm of his hand to manipulate his foreskin up and down, tugging his frenulum, teasing his urethra until he almost roared at him. “Fuck my cock, pet!” When Harry just continued to jerk his erection, little sparks of magic flicking between his hand and his cock, the wolf growled. “Harry!” The sound was so close to begging that Harry's own erection twitched of its own volition.

 

Flushed and panting, Harry released the leaking cock in his hands and shifted until his hot breath was steaming over Fenrir’s twitching arousal, his own cock hanging down in front of the other man’s face. He’d seen this position (or at least the heterosexual version of it) in one of Dean Thomas’ dirty porn magazines before but it was only recently it had returned to the forefront of his mind. It was mutually arousing and intimate – more personal in some ways. And he just couldn’t help but remember the feel of Fenrir’s mouth there before. That and the way that husky, rumbling voice had promised him: _“one day you can do this for me.”_

He felt Fenrir’s surprise through his arousal, felt his disbelief and Harry couldn’t help but grin at the feel of it, of the strength of their connection, even as his cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He lowered his head, tentatively licking the glistening pre-emission from the alpha’s tip. It was musky but otherwise flavourless. He remembered back at the beginning of all this, when Fenrir had ejaculated on him to mark him with his scent. The memory made his thighs clench, his cock jerk. He groaned, pressing down and mouthing in wanton abandon at the hard shaft.

 

“Shit!” Fenrir grunted behind him, gripping Harry's arse-cheeks hard, squeezing, spreading him, making his wrinkled ring of muscles tighten. The grip urged Harry to cant his hips, to grind his own neglected erection into Fenrir’s chest. Harry did so, going with Fenrir’s insisting hands as he lapped wetly at the cock under his chin.

 

“That’s it, pet,” Fenrir praised him huskily, keeping Harry's cheeks spread even as he drove his hips back and forth, side-to-side, keeping the friction at a perfectly maddening, unexpected pace. At the same time, Harry felt that stubbly mouth near his twitching hole. He groaned before it even reached him. That hot breath blew gently, making him clench again. His toes curled.

 

 _So good._ He tried hard to remember this wasn’t all about him. Turning his head to the side he nuzzled the entire length with his mouth and cheek, covering it in saliva. It was so addictive, the pleasure he could feel radiating from Fenrir at his touch. He hummed out his bliss with his mouth occupied and felt the man’s pleasure rise.

 

That breath was dancing across his hole, teasing him to the brink of madness. He was humping Fenrir’s chest of his own accord now, writhing atop him before that mouth had even touched him. He wanted to make Fenrir feel this too, this delirious ecstasy. Lapping at the tip once more and pressing the his tongue into the glans in a silent promise, Harry sucked the swollen head into his mouth.

 

Fenrir’s mouth dove at his hole in answering ecstasy.

 

Harry's eyes clenched shut and his hips pressed harder with each thrust into Fenrir’s body. He groaned around the huge prick between his lips, sucking hungrily, massaging what he couldn’t fit in with both hands. That tongue pressed inside him, those lips mouthed his entrance. It was so good that the darkness behind his eyelids was shining with stars.

 

Harry groaned again, purposefully this time, his cheeks hollowing and his tongue flickering across the tip of the hot organ in his mouth. Grinding his prick hard into Fenrir's hard chest and then pushing back into that ravenous mouth with every move of his hips. He felt his bollocks draw up tight, eager for release. Fenrir's magic was pushing back now, sending little sparks of static wherever their bodies touched, even down there. It was maddening. He was delirious with pleasure.

 

“F-Fuck!” Harry gasped, tendons pulled taut, every extremity tightening. He felt a chuckle against his sensitive flesh before that tongue danced across his twitching ring. He sucked frantically around his mouthful. “More!” he gasped around it, a trail of spittle linking his lips to the Fenrir's erection, which throbbed as if demanding his mouth return to it. “Want it,” Harry snarled, leaving no room for misinterpretation for what he meant.

 

Fenrir gave a grunt of agreement and held Harry tight to his body as he struggled up to his knees. Harry put his hands out, thinking Fenrir was going to lean him forward to take him on all fours but was surprised when the hand on his belly kept him upright and flush against Fenrir's body. The alpha's other hand reached between them, frigging his loosened, wet hole as his mouth grazed the nape of his neck.

 

Harry was tense with anticipation and apprehension. Little jolts of static from their magic brushing together danced along their bodies. He tilted his head to one side, offering his throat for further ravishment – the sight always made his mate growl into the kisses. He felt Fenrir's hardness grind into his buttocks as the fingers inside him twisted just that way, just at the perfect angle that made him moan out loud, unashamed and untroubled.

 

Ordering Fenrir about was fun but this was what he really relished. Relaxing and surrendering to the touch and adoration of someone he trusted completely. The sensation of weightlessness, of being able to completely forget everything else was heady and pleasurable beyond all else. He understood now. It took gaining his magic back to realise he could still be himself and give himself to someone at the same time. And what was more – he wanted it. Badly.

 

“Hurry,” he panted huskily, tugging at his own cock and impatiently arching his arse back into Fenrir's fingers. “Want you…”

 

Fenrir growled again, nipping his shoulder, lathing his mating mark with his tongue. He curled his fingers once more into the place that made every inch of Harry tighten, before withdrawing them. “Then have me,” he murmured with that rough voice, guiding the swollen head of his cock forward until it popped through the sweltering, slick ring of muscles. There he stilled, nipping, licking and sucking at every bit of Harry he could reach, leaving tiny telltale bruises wherever he touched.

 

Harry writhed, giving a low growling whimper from behind clenched teeth as he pushed back, swallowing Fenrir to the hilt and squeezing his aching cock at the same time. He could feel the electrical current of their joined magic and the blistering heat of pleasure combined rushing through every inch of him. He couldn't stop moving.

 

“So good,” he practically hissed, tugging frantically now. He reached back and looped an arm around Fenrir's neck and strained his own to snatch that devilish mouth with his own, messy, hungry kiss. He wanted to cum with that mouth on his. He wanted to taste that pleasure as well as feel it right down to his bones.

 

Fenrir was moving with him now too, one hand stroking the subtle shape of his stomach while the other reached down to help torture his purpled prick towards orgasm. His hips were grinding hard into Harry's in delicious circles. His thick cock burned Harry's slick channel but it was so good, so hot. Neither of them could stop now.

 

“Give it to me,” Harry demanded between kisses, flickering that tongue along Fenrir's, groaning into his mouth. “I want it.” And for once he would have what he wanted without feeling guilty about it. Fenrir was far from perfect, his hands far from clean but he was a good man and Harry wanted him.

 

Fenrir answered with a grunt of arousal in his mouth and held him tighter to him, so that Harry could only meet his strong, desperate thrusts with the slightest of jerks of his hips. So close. So close! Everything was a hazy, sparkling blur of magic and pleasure now. He slammed his eyes shut, his entire body pulling taut and thrumming with vibrations as their magic clashed. He dug his fingers into Fenrir's neck and gasped breathlessly into his wet kiss, spilling himself over both of their fingers.

 

The wolf’s mouth was frantic over his pulse then, kissing and biting gently at the marked side of his throat as he too let his passion burst deep inside him, even as he, Harry still shook from the tremors of his own climax.

 

Instead of releasing him to allow them both to collapse on the furs, he held Harry tight to his body and rolled back slowly. When they were both on their sides, their bodies still locked intimately together, Harry nestled his head into the pillows. One of his ‘hormonal’ grumbles was the lack of pillows on their bed, but that very night after that complaint he’d found his needs for comfort had been met. They’d never spoken of it, but it was just a very small thing on the list of ways in which Fenrir had tried to make his life more comfortable.

 

Harry sighed softly, eyes closed, Fenrir’s heart thudding hard against his back and his warmth spreading through his skin along with his magic, tingling softly in the afterglow.

“You did well last night,” Fenrir murmured, his voice as coarse and yet soft as ever, drifting like a feather across Harry's ear.

 

Harry turned his head to look back at him, those ice-blue eyes bright and shining with life. They looked like they belonged to a much younger man right now. “You didn’t do so bad yourself, although I think you gave Malfoy a heart-attack–”

 

“Echo was giving him much more than that this morning,” Fenrir chuckled roughly, sniffing casually at Harry's hair as Harry flushed. Fenrir’s big hand was cradling the soft swell of his stomach and one of Harry's joined it there. It felt so normal. He wondered if his parents had ever embraced like this when they’d been having him. Whether it was normal or not it felt good, he didn’t much care about anything else.

 

“I’m glad Malfoy has Echo. He’s an arrogant wanker but he doesn’t deserve half the rubbish he’s dealt with since _He_ came back; Echo is strong enough to protect him, to give him what he wants while being patient enough to put up with his flapping gob,” Harry said with a lazy smile, stretching slightly. Everything was sore and achy but in a good way.

 

Turning slightly, he winced at the odd sensation of Fenrir slipping out of him and sprawled out on his back, closing his eyes again. He’d never felt so relaxed or… _okay_ with the world. If it weren’t for Voldemort he might even feel…

 

“You’re not afraid of seeing me as the wolf anymore?” Fenrir asked after a few moments.

 

“I don’t think I’d like for you to hold me down in that form, and if another wolf went for me I might… I might overreact,” Harry said simply, pondering his emotions from last night. They had felt like a family last night, all of them. “I didn’t realise how much I missed it. No, I’m not afraid to see you or the others like that.” He opened his eyes to see relief etched on Fenrir’s face and narrowed his eyes at him. “That doesn’t mean that I plan on letting you mount me as the wolf again though – not ever. I still find it disgusting.”

 

Fenrir laughed. “You’re such a little prude. Don’t worry, pet, I have the rest of eternity to persuade you.”

 

Harry made a face. “Eternity won’t be long enough. I may have discovered a submissive streak in me but I don’t find animals remotely attractive or arousing. Whether I’ve got a little werewolf in me or not.”

 

“Hmm,” Fenrir murmured lazily, contentedly, stretching out to trap Harry's legs with his own and massage his stomach. “You’ve got a little werewolf in you alright,” he smirked.

 

Harry scoffed and looked down. It was being very still this morning, the excitement of the moon must’ve worn it out. It was probably sleeping. “It feels more like a Hungarian Horntail than a wolf sometimes, I can tell you that.”

 

“That’s my boy,” Fenrir grumbled, ignoring Harry's comments that it might be a girl. He seemed to do it mostly to annoy Harry anyway. It was so similar to the way Ron sometimes deliberately said things to rile up Hermione that Harry didn’t want to discourage him.

 

Harry must have drifted off a little as when he next opened his eyes, though they were both in the same place, wrapped around each other, the furs had been drawn up over them and he could hear the sound of laughter and everyday chores going on outside the den. He turned his head to find Fenrir’s eyes still on him. How long had he dozed? How long had Fenrir watched him? He opened his lips to ask these very questions, but Fenrir spoke first.

 

“Last night,” Fenrir murmured, in a way that suggested he’d been waiting since they awoke to say this. His voice was still ragged and warm but it was also hesitant in a way Harry rarely heard it. Fenrir had been thinking about something while he’d dozed and he wasn’t entirely sure it was all good.

 

“It was the best night of my life,” the alpha said, caressing his belly gently before the hand slid up to smooth Harry's fringe back from his forehead. The callous thumb stroked his scar as the man stared at him. But the other man said no more. Harry swallowed, stunned by such reverence and the intimate admission.

 

“Me too,” he said lamely, but meant it. He ducked his head so that it fit under Fenrir’s chin and dragged his own chin back and forth, so that the coarse hair on the man’s chest scraped his cheek wonderfully. Rough, coarse and warm, completely Fenrir. He liked it. He might’ve once said that he liked it more than he should, but the last few months had taught him not to think of ‘should haves’ and ‘might have beens’. Not when everything might fall apart at any minute. Voldemort, Conall, all of them had been too quiet. This was the calm before the storm.

 

And Fenrir was going to leave today.

 

That realisation suddenly made every muscle in his body tense. The hand that had been caught between their two bodies curled up and dug into Fenrir’s chest slightly.

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered. Last night and then this morning had been so… He’d completely forgotten Fenrir’s promise to set out today. That must be all the commotion he’d heard outside. They were ready to leave. The thought made Harry's chest tight and hot.

 

“I don’t have to, pet,” Fenrir murmured. “Just say the word.”

 

Harry shook his head. He swallowed, fighting back his instincts as they threatened to rise up in the form of a pleading whine. The wolf in him didn’t want Fenrir to leave him so close to the cub’s birth, thought it was a spectacularly bad idea, but he had the suspicion he’d want Fenrir to go even less once it was born – he didn’t know a thing about children after all and didn’t want to be left on his own to struggle. Besides which, the longer they drew this out, the more likely it was that something terrible would happen.

 

“You have to,” Harry breathed. “I want to end this. End _Him._ I know what it’s like to grow up in a war – so do you. To live in fear and see death everyday. I don’t want that for my son or daughter.”

 

An odd look flickered in Fenrir’s eyes and the man’s hand tightened on the back of his neck. Harry felt that stubbly chin rub against his hair. “I don’t want to. It’s only a few weeks until the cub is due,” the wolf murmured, his voice so low that Harry had to strain even his werewolf-heightened senses to hear.

 

Harry blinked, steeling himself. He needed to be stronger than this. He couldn’t be selfish. “Eithne said I’d feel… _different._ Feel the urge to hide myself, to den when the time drew near. I don’t feel that way. It’s nowhere near time yet. I want you to go and get it over with. You’ll be gone a day or two and then you won’t have to leave me again.” He hadn’t meant for the last words to come out that way, but they had and he meant it. He didn’t want Fenrir to go – he felt uneasy and uncertain. Scared for him.

 

Fenrir seemed to sense this, for he drew back to he could look into Harry's eyes properly. “It won’t even be two days. The longest part will be to convince your little crew to come with me, then we’ll need to get to a safe, unplottable apparition point. I know how to apparate but it’s not my preferred…”

 

“Dirt on his nose,” Harry murmured.

 

“Come again?”

 

Harry smirked. “Tell Ron or Hermione, the very first time we met each other on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione scolded Ron for having dirt on his nose – just like his mother had a few moments before on the platform. That should get them to believe I sent you at least.”

 

Fenrir nodded slowly. “You know they may not understand the life you have here now,” he warned.

 

Harry frowned. He understood that, but he was more worried about them all getting back safely than anything else.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Echo stretched languidly where he lay, half on top of a completely naked, pale and golden Draco Malfoy, who was dozing on his belly. They’d made it to the bed eventually in the midst of their tryst. When he’d initiated a kiss that morning he never thought Draco would take them this far. He’d been so surprised when he’d moved away from the pack that morning to relieve his bladder, only to find Draco had had the same urge. There had been some awkward staring. A lot in fact. As if they were both horny, clueless schoolboys. _Well, he_ is _a horny schoolboy at any rate,_ his mind supplied.

 

In the end, the suggestive yet uncertain look in those grey eyes had dragged him forward and he’d been unable to resist taking those lips. It had been all tongue and teeth and barely stifled groaning. But so good. He hadn’t kissed anyone in so long and it seemed neither had Draco. Draco who was all slender, pale and blond and yet voracious and demanding when he wanted someone. It would have been hard to tell which of them was the wolf earlier on, the way they had growled and tangled together in release of the sexual tension that had been building between them for weeks.

 

Leaning up slightly, he looked down at the young man in his bed, at his blond locks splayed out across his face and the furs like a pale halo. He was far from an angel though, of course and Echo smirked as he felt some of the scratches on his shoulders and back pull taut. He’d been reserved, hesitant about acting on the desire he’d been harbouring because of how unutterably _human_ the boy was. But in truth, he would’ve made a perfect werewolf.

 

 _Someday,_ he thought, _if and when he asks to be._ They could quite easily continue as they were, after all. He even sort of liked Draco being so fragile, delicately human and yet headstrong and arrogant, as if _he_ were the bloody alpha. It made Echo smile as he recalled how even in the throes of passion, the young man had scratched and clawed at his back, cursing him for making him wait so long for their intimacy.

 

Butting his nose gently against his young man’s shoulder he growled softly, nipping with his lips. Never his teeth. It appeared Draco wasn’t as repulsed by werewolves as he had been in youth (according to Harry) but that didn’t mean the boy would want to be bitten. Especially when their relationship was so new and delicate.

 

Draco made a sleepy, mumbling sound, not moving. Echo’s smile broadened and he licked and kissed up over the soft slope of the young man’s shoulder, to his neck, to his ear. There he blew gently to disturb the soft blond hair and kissed. “Are you going to pester me awake everyday?” Draco grumbled, though he didn’t move to stop the gentle kisses that caressed his face. His voice was grumpy from sleep but there was humour to his words. He was delighted.

 

The mention of waking together for the foreseeable future didn’t go unnoticed either. It made Echo’s stomach warm as if he were an adolescent again.

 

Echo shuffled forwards and rested his cheek against Draco’s, his palm sliding down and smoothing over the young man’s well-used arse. He squeezed. Lucky for them both, the rumours that the seminal fluids of a werewolf were also contagious were just that, _rumours_. It was a good job, or else Draco would most _definitely_ have been a werewolf after this morning. He could still smell his semen between the wizard’s cheeks. It made his wolf growl in pride. He’d gone so long without having someone to call his and now…

 

“You’re one of those irritatingly cheerful morning people aren’t you?” Draco griped, rolling over to face him. His eyes were bright and his cheeks still flushed. He belied any lingering doubt that his words were not teasing, however by running his hands up and down Echo’s toned arms. Echo thought he saw his new lover blush at the feel of his sinewy muscles but didn’t say anything, only grinned.

 

“You realise it’s nearly midday and not morning for much longer?” Echo chuckled, brushing his fingers underneath the sharp, angular lines of his young one’s jaw. “And you are quite endearing when you are grumpy.”

 

Draco frowned, looking almost petulant. “A Malfoy could never be something as undignified as _‘grumpy’_ ,” he griped. “Although I suppose in the last few weeks, hours even I’ve done a lot of things Malfoys haven’t in the past.” He was dead-panned for a moment, then he smirked. “It’s bloody fantastic. I’ve never felt so alive.” He flushed then, perhaps not realising how frugal he had been with his words. But Echo just brushed his finger along the outline of his lips, effectively distracting him from embarrassment. It was charming to see him embarrassed about some things, but not about things like this.

 

“There’s more where that came from,” Echo murmured, “By the time this war ends you won’t want to leave my bed. Now I’ve had you, I’m reluctant to let you move so much as an inch…”

 

Draco blinked. Apparently astonished by such a brazen acknowledgement. It had Echo wondering.

 

“Before you met me, did you even realise you were… _that way inclined?_ ” Echo asked.

 

Draco snorted. “What, that I’m gay? Of course I did! I had ample time to experiment with my sexuality. I went to a boarding school where half the students wanted into my trousers, even if they didn’t necessarily like me – girls _and_ boys.”

 

Echo stared at him then with blazing eyes. “I’m not a boy.”

 

Draco shuddered with the intensity of Echo’s tone. “Hmm, I think my sore backside is proof enough of that,” he whispered. “For the record, you’re the only one I’ve let top me. You should be honoured.”

 

Echo growled playfully, pinning Draco’s arms above his head and leaning down, claiming his lips roughly. He felt the blond groan into his mouth, his tongue dancing out to tangle with Echo’s. When they parted wetly, those grey eyes were shining up at him. Hungry again.

 

“Oh, I’m honoured,” Echo cooed, “I’m the only one who’ll get to see that debauched little expression. You’ve never been quite so submissive, have you?”

 

Draco swallowed. It was evident that he had not, yet he had liked it – a lot. “Are we mates now?” the blond asked, seemingly as a diversion technique.

 

“Not yet,” Echo said softly, “maybe one day, when you’re sure you won’t change your mind. It’s not like mortal marriage, love, you can’t get out of it once we’re bound. And you’re very young and obstinate,” he leant in, grazing his lips over that jaw like an affectionate pet.

 

“I won’t change my mind,” Draco said stubbornly. “I’m young but I’ve seen more than my fair share of the world – good and bad. I know what I want. And I’ve always got what I wanted in the end.”

 

“I have no doubt about that,” Echo chuckled against his skin, looking up at that obstinate look with amusement and adoration. He’d never met anyone quite like Draco Malfoy.

 

*                      *                      *

 

The sun was low in the sky by the time they all found themselves assembled outside in the valley. Harry could not help but notice the sweet-musky, telltale scent radiating from Draco and Echo as they stood beside him. He smirked to himself at the picture they made, the two of them determinedly avoiding each other's eyes.

 

It was nice to see; Echo had bent over backwards for him since he'd arrived here. He was sure the man had more than once helped Fenrir to see necessary changes in the way he handled him at the beginning. Harry was grateful to him in many ways, it was good to see him happy and with someone who was clearly head over heels for him. And Draco, well, he'd never seen Draco so still and speechless and... _ruffled_. He'd come a long way, but then, so had Harry.

 

 Watching Fenrir who stood in the middle of the circle they'd gathered in, barking out orders and precautions to Ulric and Echo, Harry couldn't help but realise just how much had changed in...not even 6 months! It would be Halloween soon! The thought made him uneasy and he found himself wrapping his arms around his stomach – he'd been doing that a lot lately. It didn't mean anything.

 

 With a frown, he continued to watch Fenrir, catching his eye every now and then as the man constantly looked back to him after every sentence. His stomach felt heavier, with just the ever-present pressure on his bladder moving down and more insistent with each day. He'd caught himself eying the slight recess in the earth by his favourite tree more than once today, though he'd couldn't explain why. He felt oddly fascinated by the desire to lay down in it, to hide himself from view where he could still hear and feel the pack close by.

 

 It was odd, but it had been his first moon with the pack in so long, he was probably just having a little repercussion. _Yes. That was it_ , he convinced himself. That had to be it, because there was no way he would be able to tell Fenrir about these odd feelings. The man was already reluctant enough to leave him after his admission this morning, that he didn't want him to go. _And if he asks me again,_ he thought wretchedly, _if he gives me the opportunity to make him stay I won't be able to resist._ His little bludger thumped him from the inside, almost consolingly, he stroked his skin under the fur cloak. Why did this feel so wrong?

 

 He found himself staring at the ground by the alpha's feet longingly, wanting to prostrate himself there and show him why he couldn't go, but he blinked back the peculiar desire. Accalia said he shouldn't have found it so easy to ignore his instincts, that he shouldn't be able to control his natural magic so well after so short a time as a wolf. But then, the rules of normality never had applied to him. Youngest seeker in a century – Merlin, but he missed quidditch. Probably the youngest person ever to produce a corporeal patronus – he missed Remus. The only one who stood between Voldemort and victory...

 

Why was he so maudlin lately? He resolutely blamed the hormones and stopped stroking his stomach. He was still so confused about how he felt, about the baby and Fenrir and everything else that came with it. But as he watched Fenrir ready to leave him, it made him ponder his bewildering feelings to distraction. If he could push aside his wolf instincts so easily, even now when they were making the tendons in his body itch with desire to go crawl into that hollow by the tree, surely they couldn't affect how he acted, how he felt for Fenrir and the baby inside him? Surely that meant, whatever he _did_ feel was just him, just his feelings, not the wolf. That realisation was comforting to his troubled mind. 

 

 He'd never ever felt this way before, not just about his mate but about their child, about the pack and the valley. It felt like home and he so wanted that feeling to be real. _It is,_ he thought desperately, finding himself gazing to the side where he knew the interesting hollow lay, even if he couldn't see it from here due to the way the grassy ground sloped gently. _I know it is._

 

A warm, rough hand caught his chin, tilting his head back and up. He started at the sudden jerk back from his daydream and found himself staring up at Fenrir. The whole circle had dispersed aside from Echo, Draco, Amoux, Marrok and Raquelle, who were all watching the exchange. Harry flushed a little and tilted his head to free his chin but did not move away. He did however, have to fight the instinct to reach out and grab the man to hold him in place. He wasn't above admitting he had issues with people leaving him, with saying goodbye no matter for how long a time. Especially during a war. Especially with the history of people he got close to getting hurt.

 

 Straightening up a little he set his jaw, ignoring the urge to whine low in his throat. He was a man too, Fenrir didn't have to cater to him like a child. He'd found someone who could be strong for him when he needed to be weak, but he couldn't surrender to that all the time. They were equals. He was an alpha too, he needed to act like one. 

 

 Besides, Draco would never let him live it down if he didn't live up to his previous reputation. He smirked slightly at the thought. 

 

 Fenrir laying a hand on his stomach jerked him back from his reverie once more. But when the man spoke, he was looking down at where his hand lay, speaking to the suddenly very active little bludger in Harry's belly. “Don't you dare arrive without me,” he said in his usual gruff tone. The baby within kicked hard and Harry winced. Fenrir chuckled.

 

 “I've got ages to go yet,” Harry said, trying to convince himself as well as Fenrir. He must have convinced Fenrir better than he did himself though for he felt a swell of relief rush from his mate at his words. Reaching up, he hauled Fenrir tight against him and leant up on his toes to crash their lips together. He didn’t care if the other five were watching him. He wouldn’t be the meek submissive pining after his alpha – he’d give Fenrir Greyback a reason to come home. And quick too if he knew what was good for him.

 

One of Fenrir’s hands knotted in his hair and the other seized a fistful of the fur cloak at Harry’s back, using it to haul Harry clean up off his toes and against Fenrir’s mouth. The man growled, shoving his tongue inside, letting it dance along Harry's with now practised movements, mapping the moist cavern of heat until Harry was forced to push away for air.

 

Despite his bravado, he was mortified to know the others had seen all that – never mind that in a wolf pack you could smell when a couple had been intimate in any case. “Hurry back,” he said quietly, panting slightly. His eyes closed as Fenrir leant in, pressing his forehead against Harry's and inhaling him deeply, like a man taking his last gasp of air before diving into the depths of the ocean.

 

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Fenrir murmured as if swearing an oath. Perhaps he was. His eyes were bright but stern, rimmed with gold. “I promise,” he added. Harry nodded, feeling a bit relieved. It would all be alright. Fenrir never broke his promises.

 

_~To Be Continued..._

 

 


	17. The Hollow

Author's Note:

**Thanks to the inspiration of Anonchick, I added a scene after the flashback on the previous chapter.** It's not imperative that you read it but I think it just gives the couple/chapter/story something that was lacking before. Thanks so much to Anonchick for inspiring me to write that extra 5 pages! I knew the chapter was lacking something and this was it! I hope you all like the edit :)

 

Thank you again for all your support so far! Every word that all of you give me really has inspired me. I've had a rubbish few weeks and seeing how many people are enjoying the story just makes it so much brighter. Love you all!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

.: Chapter Seventeen :.

The Hollow

 

 

Harry wasn’t sure how he came to be there. He’d definitely, _most_ _definitely_ fallen asleep wrapped up warm in his and Fenrir’s furs, Ghost snuggled against his side. He remembered it specifically because it had been nearly impossible to get comfortable (thanks to little bludger) and equally hard to drift off, thanks to Fenrir being absent. Yet now as he opened his eyes, with the sun rising on his first morning without Fenrir, he found himself somewhere else altogether.

 

He was in the bloody hollow by the tree he’d been eyeing up!

 

Craning his neck he looked around and sure enough, he’d somehow managed to drag the furs off his and Fenrir’s bed and make himself a snug nest in the hollow. The furs were warm with his body heat, they smelt of Fenrir and Ghost was half laying on him too, protecting him, still asleep. When had he dragged their bedding out here? Why? Why didn’t he remember? Had he done it in his sleep?

 

 _Fenrir is going to go absolutely mental when he sees what I’ve done to the furs,_ he thought, before he remembered that they were magically resistant to dirt. Even with his head up, the way the ground sloped up to form the ‘rim’ of the slight hollow by the tree meant he was perfectly hidden from sight. Safe. He felt a low, rumbling whine rise in his throat and sighed in contentment. This was right. He needed to be here. Here was nice. It smelt of his mate.

 

Closing his eyes, he pulled the furs back tight around him until he was completely submerged in them from head to toe underneath. It was warm, womb-like and dark. It was good to be dark. He could feel Ghost squirm happily against him. Harry curled up, petting his swollen belly. It was oddly still this morning. His cub was sleeping, preparing…

 

“Harry?!”

 

A voice called his name in the distance. He thought it was his name. Yes. Yes it definitely was. In fact, a few people were calling for him. The sound made him more at ease. His pack was nearby, the world smelt of his mate. This was a good place to be. He rubbed his belly gently. It was very heavy today, hot inside and tense. His innards were throbbing slightly and every now and then they’d twinge. He would wince and shift a little to alleviate the pain until it dulled back to a subtle ache.

 

He hadn’t eaten anything all day yesterday. He didn’t need to. His body had stored what it needed, there was no waste and now he didn’t have to move to empty his bowels. He could stay in his womb-like den he’d made. A twinge in his chest made him give a soft whine and he blinked, staring down as he rubbed at his aching nipples. It hurt more and he winced, his wolf-enhanced eyes able to make out the slightest milky discharge on his fingers as he pulled them away from his chest.

 

If his instincts hadn’t been driving, the sight would have terrified and possibly even destroyed what little confidence he’d gained back in his manhood. As it was he just licked his fingers before snuggling back up again. He was ok. Ghost licked comfortingly. He could still hear the voices calling. Ghost was ok, he was like his own cub, but he didn’t want anyone else near his den. No. They should know to stay away.

 

 

“For fucks sake, Potter,” Draco snarled as he finally caught sight of the lump of furs shifting slightly under the tree. It was only visible once he was nearly standing on top of it. He’d seen Potter’s head briefly as he’d shifted around a second ago and could see his pet wolf’s tail sticking out the side of the nest of furs, wagging every now and then.

 

“Always the attention-whore, Potter,” he mumbled without malice. But everyone had been scared shitless to notice the golden boy missing from his and Greyback’s den. It was only when Echo had stopped and smelled Potter’s scent coming from this direction and sent Draco to check that the panic had ceased.

 

Draco frowned, glancing back over his shoulder to see that the entire pack had stopped and was watching him with apprehension. Why? He looked down at the mop of furs and bent into a crouch on the high-ground that formed the lip of the hollow. As he did so, the furs shifted and a soft whine sounded.

 

“Potter? Are you in pain?” he asked indifferently. He licked his dry lips, unnerved. Potter never surrendered. Never showed pain. Draco had been forced to watch as his classmate was strung up by wires and tortured beyond what any normal man could take and still he’d not bent.

 

Uneasy, Draco reached down, but his fingers stopped short as the wolf named Ulric laid a firm hand on his shoulder – stilling him.

 

“He’s breeding, boy,” Ulric said in a warning tone, “your lover sent you over here because you, Alpha and the boy’s pet wolf are probably the only ones who can be near him in this state without him turning feral.”

 

Draco frowned, not understanding. “He considers me a pet?” he hissed in dismay.

 

Ulric’s battle-worn face twisted with a smirk. “Probably more like an adopted cub.”

 

“I’m older than him!” Draco snapped, shrugging Ulric’s hand off. The werewolf tensed at his blatant disregard for respect, but then, Draco was Echo’s intended mate – that put him higher than Ulric in the pack hierarchy. And Draco knew it. That probably irritated Ulric more.

 

“He doesn’t think you _are_ his cub but he considers you his responsibility, just like that pet wolf of his. He claimed you both under his protection. He will protect you both even in his most feral state,” Ulric explained as if to a much younger person.

 

Draco winced in distaste at the idea. He really needed to sit in on one of Accalia’s lessons on pack politics, if only to make things like this slightly less peculiar and easier to digest. Life had become so strange. He glanced back over his shoulder at Echo, who had come a few feet closer, but no further. Yes, wonderful, but strange. With a sigh he looked back to Ulric. “What do you want me to do? I take it he can’t see any of you anywhere near the hollow?”

 

Ulric nodded his confirmation. “Exactly. But there have been known complications in births and since his mate cannot attend him…”

 

Draco blanched. “I am not helping Harry fucking Potter deliver a baby!”

 

Ulric snorted. “His instincts will help him do that. We just need you to check the vital points to ensure he’s alright.” With that, he edged slowly, quietly back from the hollow until he was a few feet away.

 

Everyone was silent. Draco could hear Potter’s breathing even from where he knelt above him. He glanced, panicked at the furs, then at Echo and Ulric. But he owed the git so much, more than just his life. He had to do this. Merlin help him, he _wanted_ to. Looking to Echo again, he wondered if he might’ve done it anyway, even if he didn’t want to, had Echo asked. It was a frightening thought, the lengths he was willing to go, the things he was willing to do for this man. He bit the inside of his lip and set his jaw, before turning back to the heap of fur, reaching for it.

 

“Draco,” Echo called softly, barely audible. Draco’s gaze snapped back to him immediately. He sounded so…worried. Draco might not have known much, but he knew what Potter and his child meant to the pack. They were precious, beyond words.

 

“Slow and gentle actions,” Echo explained. “Don’t spook him. He’s more wolf than man now.”

 

Draco nodded, moistening his lips again and slowly, carefully, he reached down. Remembering something he’d seen Potter himself do, Draco shifted so that he was on the lower lip of the hollow, on a more similar level to Potter and went down on his belly. Gently he touched the fur. He felt the body beneath it tense and cursed inwardly, wracking his brain back to the full moon night where he had seen in person _Perfect Potter’s_ demonstration of how not to get your hand bitten off (or anything else important).

 

He hummed nonsensically, feeling quite stupid as he couldn’t quite growl like Potter and the wolves did, but to his relief, it seemed to do the trick. Potter knew it was him, the outline of his body lost its tension and slowly, the furs peeled back enough for Draco to see Potter’s head and shoulders. Ghost wriggled into sight too and whined softly at the sight of him. It was as Ulric had said, it seemed.

 

“I really can’t believe you trust me above everyone here to come near you when you’re about to…to _give birth,_ Potter!” Draco hissed under his breath. The very words themselves sounded ridiculous! The notion of his school rival trusting him with something so delicate was…actually, nauseating. If he fucked this up, Echo would be devastated. Oh, he’d probably forgive him, but he’d be distraught none the less. Setting his jaw in determination, Draco knew he couldn’t let that happen – even if Potter teased him for the rest of his life about what he needed to do next.

 

“What colour are his eyes, Draco?” Echo called softly from where they stood some distance away.

 

Draco forced himself to focus. He looked into Potter’s usually gleaming green eyes, only to find burning gold – like molten galleons. “G-Gold,” he gasped out, unnerved by the sight of them. He kept his voice low and soft, the way one might when confronted with a startled deer. “And he’s pale.” He didn’t dare take his eyes from Potter’s. Those gold orbs were burning into him.

 

“That’s fine, Draco, he’s meant to be,” Echo assured him.

 

“Check his teeth,” Ulric commanded.

 

 _You’ve got to be kidding me._ Going near Potter’s mouth was abhorrent at best, dangerous at most. He leant in slowly and to his complete and utter shock, Potter shifted back, lifting the furs for him to climb under too. Draco winced and he couldn’t help it, he jerked his head up in a sudden movement at the realisation that Potter was –half-naked in the furs, only clad in his loose fitting, low-riding cotton trousers. He _really_ didn’t want to see that. Gay or not, he found the sight quite unpleasant. Second only to seeing his parents sans clothes.

 

The sharp movement had caught Harry's attention though. The man shot forward, his face inches from Draco’s, eyes unblinking. Draco swallowed, hard. In an effort to calm the situation back again, he hummed the way he had before until he saw Potter go lax against the fur once more. His face was still right in front of him. Shit. Well, it would help him in this next task, he supposed.

 

Reaching up, Draco hesitantly touched Potter’s face. The boy flinched, the action nearly making Draco jump – nearly. Luckily for him, he’d become very proficient at treading on eggshells. He smiled reassuringly at Potter, his breath slightly ragged with that brief panic. Thankfully, Potter smiled back – a content smile in which his lips parted slightly. Draco blinked at the sight.

 

“He’s got fangs – like a werewolf,” he whispered.

 

“To bite off the umbilical cord,” Echo said. Draco tried hard not to imagine that. It all sounded very repulsive. Thank heavens he wouldn’t be able (not expected) to do anything so repulsive. He didn’t carry the recessive gene like Potter did.

 

“Can he talk still? That’ll tell us how far along he is,” Amoux’s voice called gently.

 

“How should I know?” Draco grumbled to himself. What on earth would get Potter to talk? “You have no idea how fat you’re getting, Potter,” he said, dead-panned.

 

 

Potter stretched lazily, closing his eyes and rubbing slow circles over his stomach.

 

“I don’t think he can,” he said. Potter had been a right tetchy git about his weight gain. It had been quite amusing. If he hadn’t retaliated to _that_ …

 

“No,” Amoux’s voice sounded panicked. “He’s advanced so quickly so soon. The Alpha won’t be back in time–”

 

“It could be hours yet,” Ulric said gruffly. “Shae’s labour stalled for hours with Wolfram. It’s nature at her most unpredictable. “Are the furs wet?”

 

Draco assumed that last part was directed at him. He sneered inwardly in disgust and slowly sat up, pushing the fur back a fraction. “Dry. But his chest is wet with something.”

 

“That’s good, Draco,” Echo said, “He’s doing everything he’s supposed to. You can come out now.”

 

“Gladly,” Draco huffed. Sliding back he shimmied out of the hollow and watched Potter give him a final, sweeping glance, as if to assess Draco’s wellbeing, before pulling the fur back over himself completely. Draco returned to Echo’s side as quickly as he dared, relieved. True, Potter’s life had some value to him now, quite a bit. Truth be told he might even be morbidly fond of the git but he had no desire to have his face bitten off in a moment of feral panic – nor to be snuggled up against Potter’s naked bits!

 

“Please tell me I don’t have to do that again,” Draco mumbled, “I think I’m scarred for life.”

 

Ulric snorted. Echo smiled. “Only if, in a few hours time he still hasn’t started fidgeting around. You shouldn’t have to get so close again, I hope.” He punctuated his words by leaning forwards, pulling Draco sharply towards him. A flush danced across Draco’s nose and cheeks. Werewolves were very open with their affection, even in front of the pack. He would have to get used to that. By the way Echo nuzzled at the hair at his ear, however, he suspected the task wouldn’t be too much of an arduous one.

 

The pack started to disperse upon realising that things would be alright for a while at least. Draco smiled breathlessly as Echo’s proximity and his lips parted to utter some nonsensical endearment. But a deafening sound cut him short. A sharp, ringing thrill that reverberated across the entire valley made every person in it stop dead still. Draco felt the tension rise at the continuous, high-pitched alarm. He watched as everyone whipped around, staring in horror at the gates that, as long as Draco had been here, had remained warded shut.

 

Suddenly, the howling of wolves joined the ringing and Ulric and Echo bolted for the gates.

 

“LET THEM IN! SOMETHING IS WRONG!” Ulric cried, hastily opening the gates, almost mowed down by the stampede of guard wolves that bundled frantically into the valley, yelping and screaming. Draco thought he saw Ulric counting them and a sharp nod from Echo had the two men throwing the gates closed again. As they hurried to lock it, Draco bolted forwards to Echo’s side.

 

“What’s the matter? What’s that sound?” he demanded, but Echo was already backing away from the gate, his hand clamped tight around Draco’s arm, dragging him alongside. They were running now back to the centre of the valley.

 

“We’re being attacked! They shouldn’t have been able to get in – they couldn’t!” Echo insisted, not stopping, making a beeline for the hollow where Harry lay, still enshrouded in his furs.

 

“Amoux, Accalia, get the cubs inside!” Ulric commanded. The pack scattered. Amoux and Accalia swept the screaming children towards Accalia’s den, frantic as those who remained transformed, one by one, until only Echo, Draco and Ulric remained human in the clearing.

 

The mountain was trembling. Draco felt panic rise in his throat. He’d thought this place was safe! Impenetrable! “Is it _Him_?” he asked as Echo hunkered down over the clump of furs.

 

“No, Draco. I can smell them now, it’s werewolves – other werewolves,” Echo said hurriedly, throwing aside the furs. “They’ve come for Harry.” At this moment, Harry leapt from the furs snarling, eyes wide, new fangs bared. Ghost was on guard beside him. Harry’s eyes were wide and gold, glaring at first unseeingly at Echo and Draco, before fixing on the gates across the valley. He could sense the disturbance, it had sent him feral and flying for Echo’s throat.

 

“Watch out!” Draco cried.

 

Echo leapt backwards to avoid those teeth that snapped loudly on thin air – just an inch from his neck. “Harry!” Echo cried, trying to get through to him. Those eyes were blazing. The only breeding sub he had ever seen was Fenrir’s mother when he’d given birth to the triplets and then Wolfram a few years later. But he’d never looked like this, eyes blazing, teeth bared like a frightened beast that had been caged and whipped until it snapped.

 

Harry roared and dove again, this time, an answering snarl ripped through the air and a dark grey wolf landed between them. Ulric kept his head low, his jowls drawn back in warning and submission equally. Harry was the alpha numero but he wasn’t himself. They had to do something before he hurt himself – or anyone else!

 

Harry slid an arm around his belly, his mate’s fur cloak still wrapped around him, Ghost at his side. He could taste the panic in the air, feel the tension. It was supposed to be calm, quiet, he was supposed to listen to the pack contentedly while he rested in his hollow. The world around them was trembling, the magic that protected the valley was quivering as it was breached. Something was coming.

 

Dozens of foreign scents filled his nostrils. He felt panic and fear rise in him like fire licking at a forest’s edge before it consumed it. He took a step back from his beta and the others. He needed to get back to his hollow, it was safe there, no one could see him…

 

At that moment, the world shifted into slow motion. He turned his head toward the scents that assaulted his nose, watching as the gates unwound themselves and flew open. His eyes widened and if he could see himself now, he would see them burning gold.

 

Weylyn was at the gate, he, Conall and Caleb flanked by dozens of other wolves. They were all in wolf form, a frightening sight in the one place they had all thought they were safe. But as he met Conall’s gaze across the clearing and felt a heavy, sickening weight drop in his convulsing belly, he felt himself focus once more. Harry licked his dry lips, coming back to himself.

 

“Have you ever banished someone from the pack?” Harry whispered, his voice raw and low with horror.

 

All heads snapped to him. The invaders hadn’t moved from the mouth of the doorway into the valley. They were watching them, a mere few hundred feet away.

 

“Harry?” Echo murmured, evidently shocked he had come back to himself.

 

Harry gave a sharp, single nod.

 

“No,” Echo answered, just as quietly, “no one before Weylyn.”

 

Harry was afraid of that. “The wards still accept Weylyn like pack – he showed them the way in,” Harry breathed. The sight of the rogue wolves sent a frisson of fear roiling up inside him, but he stood firm.

 

“No,” Echo murmured. “He might have been able to lead them back to the entrance, through the caves from memory but the gates wouldn’t open to him. Even if someone from this side left them open the valley still wouldn’t let them enter. Only pack can enter.”

 

Echo sounded so certain. But then how had they got in? What was happening?

 

Holy fuck, his stomach _ached_ …

 

With a hand on his belly he winced and staggered back, glancing to the side just in time to see Accalia and the last of the children vanish into his den. But how safe would they be in there once the rest of the pack out here fell to the invaders? He looked around at his pack, his family. Around twenty of them left out here with Amoux, Accalia and the children gone – there would have been more if Fenrir, Raquelle, Marrok, Hemming and Lupa were not on some selfish, comparatively unimportant mission at his whim.

 

Harry grit his teeth. This was all his fault. Some of their strongest were missing because of him. Whatever happened here was on his head. His stomach throbbed again, more ferociously this time and he pulled his fur cloak around him, smelling Fenrir’s scent on the hairs. It gave him little comfort, only made him think of the look Fenrir would get on his face when he came home to find his family massacred – _again_. Inhaling deeply, he stepped forward.

 

“Potter,” Draco warned, his voice slightly higher, his eyes fixed on the invaders. Harry didn’t turn to him, didn’t look away, just walked forwards a few feet so that he knew Conall, Weylyn and the others would be able to hear him. They were still a good few hundred feet apart, but beneath the cloak he was trembling despite himself. They would smell his fear, yes, but he wouldn’t show it if he could help it. He waited.

 

After a few, stagnant moments, the great red wolf shifted back into Conall’s humanoid face, his hair crimson like blood and his eyes gleaming dangerously.

 

Harry set his jaw. The sky was darkening. It rumbled forebodingly. There was so much magic here, so much earth magic warring with each other. He felt a raindrop on his cheek.

 

“Ah, little one, you have come to bargain for your pack?” Conall cooed with false gentleness. It made Harry shiver unpleasantly.

 

“It’s me you want, isn’t it?” Harry asked, trying for aloofness.

 

Conall grinned. “You’re close to whelping.”

 

Harry flinched. He vaguely remembered someone earlier saying his eyes were gold, that he had fangs – had it been Malfoy? He wasn’t going to have the baby now surely? He couldn’t! It wasn’t safe. His instincts had him wavering on the spot, desperate to return to his hollow and it took everything in him to remain where he stood, unyielding.

 

“I don’t need to bargain for anything,” Harry sneered. “I’m the alpha numero. Get out.”

 

Conall’s smirk broadened. He looked more like a shark than a wolf in that moment. He and the others edged forward. Harry felt the pack bristle.

 

“Looks to me like Greyback has let his sub forget his place. Don’t worry, little one, I will give you all the instruction you need.”

 

“So you’ve decided you’ll be the first to have me then?” Harry said with distaste. “Very organised of you. And let me guess – Weylyn is second?”

 

Weylyn looked nervous to be addressed directly. Perhaps he remembered how Harry had attacked him the last time they’d seen each other. Harry lifted his chin a little at the memory, secretly pleased with the thought.

 

“Conall’s brother Caleb is second since Alph– Greyback killed his twin over you,” Weylyn said at last. “Then my turn.” He spoke with such foreboding impatience and greed. It made Harry feel nauseous.

 

“There will be no ‘having’ of any kind with me,” Harry growled. “Or have you forgotten what I did to Radulf?” There was definite uneasiness in the way some of the rogue wolves shifted from paw to paw at the mention of their dead comrade. Conall, however, looked as arrogant and unmoved as ever.

 

“Enough talk, Harry,” he said. “Come with us now and we’ll leave without another word.” He paused, eyes roving Harry's form, unperturbed by the fact it was well-protected from view thanks to Fenrir’s fur cloak. “We’ll even let you keep Greyback’s cub as a peace offering. Save your mate’s pack anymore bloodshed.”

 

Harry froze at that, remembering all too well Fenrir’s haunted explanation of the night he had lost his parents, sister, brothers and most of the pack. What if that happened again now? What if Fenrir lost everything? If this pack that had loved him, welcomed him, Harry, were slaughtered because of him? No. No one else could die for him.

 

“Stop being a hero, Potter,” Draco’s voice warned from somewhere behind him.

 

“But I can end this before anyone gets hurt,” he murmured.

 

“And the pain you are trying to avoid, the heartache you’d feel if any of us were hurt or died for you, do you not imagine we would be subject to the same grief and guilt if we were to let you go?” Echo argued, his voice tinged with anger as Harry had never heard it. “You’re not responsible for what _they_ decide to do with nature’s gift or for what happens to us when we fight back. The situation is out of your control because we won’t let you barter yourself for our alleged safety.”

 

It was then that Harry made his decision. The pack would fight to the death to protect him, he had to act before they could instigate a fight. He had his magic back, he could hurt Conall and the others but that would not guarantee the pack’s safety. He needed to be quick. Before he could put a foot forward though, two arms wrapped around him tight. They clamping his own arms down to his sides and dragged him backwards as the world erupted into chaos.

 

“They’ve invaded our home, violated every tradition we hold!” Echo shouted to his pack mates. “Kill them!” Every wolf around him lurched forward with a snarl, paws tearing up the earth as they flew. At that moment, Conall and Weylyn shifted too, heading the rogues and crashing into the pack.

 

Fangs ripped at flesh and fur. Blood flew. Claws tore into their enemy and Harry felt any panic he’d had on seeing so many wolves overwhelmed, eclipsed by fear for the safety of those who had been his family for half a year. Ulric streaked past him on his way into the fray, a mere blur of dark grey fur.

 

“Get off me, Malfoy!” Harry roared, sending a small sharp _zap_ of electric power into the arms dragging him forcibly backward. It was enough to free him from the blond’s grasp. Harry whirled on his feet to glare at him, but anything he was about to say died on his tongue as that same throbbing agony from before pulsed through his stomach. His stomach, his back, everywhere. Oh, fuck it hurt. He’d felt pain before, lost all the bones in one arm and grown them back (slowly) overnight. This was a different pain. It had been uncomfortable before but now… He couldn’t help but clap his hands to his abdomen in an attempt to alleviate the pain. It felt harder to breathe all of a sudden.

 

“Potter, stop trying to play the bloody hero and let someone fight for you for once!” Malfoy hissed.

 

Harry grimaced. “Like my mum and dad? Like Sirius? Like Moody or Dumbledore?” He was mostly talking to himself now, Malfoy probably didn’t know nor care about Sirius. It didn’t matter much though, the blond understood what he meant.

 

“And if you rush forward gun-ho now your _child_ will die!” Malfoy snapped. “Everyone here is an adult, more than capable of deciding if this fight if worth it but that child unfortunate enough to be in _Martyr Potter’s_ belly can’t make that decision.”

 

Those words left Harry stunned to silence and stillness in the middle of battle. When had Malfoy become so insightful? War had changed him. being with the pack had changed him.

 

Suddenly Echo had Draco’s face in his hands, his eyes and voice desperate. “Stay together,” he breathed. Hauling Draco’s face to his and crushing their lips together quickly, ferociously as if trying to convey everything in that one brief kiss. Harry watched Draco’s hands wrap around Echo’s neck but before he could get purchase, Echo broke away. With a final longing glance at his new lover, he transformed into the familiar tawny wolf and tore into the grey wolf that had been about to spring on them all.

 

Howls and yips of pain tore through the air. Harry side-stepped a brown wolf that dove for him and threw up a hand, sending the earth from underfoot crashing into the assailant. The wolf cried out as the heavy soil and stone blinded him, sent him staggering back. Harry staggered too. He felt hot all over. Why did he feel so hot? Oh, Merlin, did he hurt all over. His stomach tight and throbbing.

 

“ _Confringo_!” Draco’s voice called from beside him, a flash of light from his hand sending a burst of flame at the next wolf. It howled as the flames singed its fur and Harry took the opportunity to act, following his instincts that lingered just below his consciousness, he turned his head skyward and concentrated hard on the raindrops that had begun to fall.

 

This new power he’d discovered was channelled through the earth, through nature and he would use nature’s forces to his advantage. The intensity of his gaze made his aching body shake and he felt blood trickle from his nose. He could do it. He had to do _something._

 

A few feet away, Echo howled as the swipe of Caleb’s claws tore through his face.

“No!” Draco cried, flying forwards. Caleb bared his teeth at his approach, fangs stained red with Echo’s blood where he’d bitten a chunk out of the beta wolf’s shoulder a second before. Echo snapped warningly as he righted himself. Draco was too close to those venomous fangs.

 

Caleb dove, wrenching a cry of pain from Draco as his massive paws pinned him to the dirt. Draco’s human shoulders trembled under his weight. The wolf’s fangs descended on his pale flesh – a hairsbreadth away.

 

“No!” Harry screamed this time. With a swipe of his hand the rain swirled into a single roaring tide mid-air. It glistened silver in the dimness caused by the stormy sky, before crashing into Caleb. Fur and flesh steamed, burned where it hit. His blood splattered Draco where he lay beneath him. The blond scrambled back, glancing quickly at Harry who had taken control of the falling rain and turned it to liquid silver.

Caleb was squealing like a stuck pig, frantically trying to shake the searing liquid silver from his fur. Echo slammed into him, jaws wide and sank his fangs into his throat. The remnants of silver in the flesh made his jaws burn but he did not let go until Caleb sank lifelessly to the ground. It was then that Echo limped over to Draco, sniffing hurriedly in assessment of his injuries.

Harry sent another stronger, fiercer typhoon of silver at the enemy wolf stalking the couple, dashing the blood weeping from his nose with his other hand. His body was quivering with adrenaline and pain. He had never felt so strong. He understood what Fenrir meant now when he’d said this was a gift, not a curse.

 

 _Fenrir._ Where was he? He needed him.

 

Something hard, sharp and growling slammed into him, sending him sprawling back in the dirt. He landed awkwardly and hard on his front. He froze as his belly collided hard with the ground. Oh no. Oh, _fuck,_ no! Scrabbling up onto his hands and knees he cried out as the wolf above, Weylyn (if Harry's senses were right) pushed hard on his back, trying to press him into the earth.

 

Harry screamed, his legs and arms shaking from the effort of holding himself up to save his stomach from being crushed. Something hot and wet spilled out his backside, leaking through his loose-fitted trousers and onto the cold ground between his legs. Blood? He winced. It didn’t smell like his blood but it didn’t smell good either.

 

His elbows buckled, his sore chest was pushed to the ground but he kept his knees rooted in place in a last effort to protect his abused belly. A long, deep whine rushed past his lips. He curled in on his small bump. An insidious, inhuman chuckle shuddered across the back of his neck from Weylyn’s muzzle and then he realised – he was unwittingly presenting his arse to the bastard.

 

With a snarl he dug his fingers into the dirt and hurled a fistful back into the beast’s eyes. Weylyn shrank back automatically. Harry scrambled up; glancing down to see his trousers were indeed dark and damp. Had he lost it? After all they’d been through? Anguish like he’d never felt ripped through him like the _Cruciatus._ What would Fenrir say?

 

A sharp movement had his eyes up in time to see Weylyn mid-pounce. He was seething and desperate, about to descend, his claws extended to rip his possibly dead baby from his bruised belly. A howl pierced the valley. A flash of dark grey blocked the rain and the world from view as it leapt over him. Harry felt a cry leave him as he saw the grey wolf’s body jerk, Weylyn’s perilous claws tearing through Ulric’s belly and neck instead of his own.

 

Ulric spluttered and gasped, changing back to a man as he collapsed so as not to crush Harry with the weight of his werewolf body. He landed beside Harry, blood gushing from his mouth, his neck and belly marred, leaking the same foreboding crimson. Harry scrambled upright, glancing to Weylyn only to find Ulric’s own claws had torn straight through the bastard’s chest when they had collided. Weylyn lay dead, motionless with rain dripping into open, dead eyes.

 

Harry felt his stomach lurch when he saw Ulric toss Weylyn’s still-beating heart from his hand, in favour of clasping frantically at the gaping wound in his own belly. “No!” Harry gasped, crawling over to him, sliding his own hand alongside Ulric’s to try and staunch the bleeding. The man’s neck was bleeding heavily too but when Harry tried to reach up with his free hand, the wolf collapsed entirely, his head resting on Harry's bruised belly.

 

Harry froze. He’d always thought Ulric hated him, resented everything he stood for. But the way he nestled into his stomach revealed that, like Fenrir, Ulric cared perhaps too much and was at a loss for how to deal with that. Most of the wolves who had seen their pack culled by wizards all those years ago were the same, unable to express it any other way than bark orders and bile in an attempt to keep those they cared for safe and strong. Fenrir, the pack, Harry and the infant inside him – he wanted them all safe. Despite his long life, he’d never had the luxury of falling in love or giving in to his feelings. Now he never would.

 

“Don’t!” Ulric spluttered bloodily when Harry tried to summon any magic he had left to heal the wounds on the wolf’s body. He glared up at Harry meaningfully. “You’re almost exhausted, boy. Save it. Your magic…strength, you’ll need it for…” A harsh, bloody coughing tore any words he’d been about to utter to pieces, but he gestured frantically to Harry's stomach so that he understood. “I’m a lost cause, cub,” he gasped, fighting to get his breath back.

 

 _It’s no use,_ Harry tried to say, _it’s dead_ – but the words wouldn’t come. It felt incredibly awkward, but Harry wrapped his arms around the older man’s body as best he could to offer him some semblance of comfort. He felt hot angry, anguished tears sting the backs of his eyes as Ulric nuzzled his belly gently again with his raspy, unshaven cheek, the bloody saliva weeping from his mouth healing the bruise forming there.

 

“I…I finally understand what all the fuss is about with you,” the man choked, his throat filling with blood, barely capable of coherent sound. “I c-an hear its heartbeat,” he gurgled.

 

Harry tensed. It was alive? But as he thought this, he watched Ulric’s eyes drift shut and the man went limp. Gone. Harry screwed his eyes shut, laying a hand on his stomach beside Ulric’s face. He felt a strange urge to… He frowned. It felt like the urge to go to the loo but growing steadily more painful. Clenching tremors shook his insides. His arse felt…different.

 

Fuck. It was coming!

 

“Potter!” Draco’s voice called. His hand locked around one of Harry's arms, forcing it to loop around the blond’s shoulder, using it to haul him off the ground. As he did so, a sharp, inhibiting pain lanced through Harry and he screamed bloody murder. Echo was beside them as a wolf still, guarding them as Draco was forced to drag Harry in the direction of his and Fenrir’s den.

Harry tried to get his limp legs to corporate, tried to convey to Echo that he wanted to get Ulric’s body somewhere it couldn’t be desecrated but he couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t speak or move or do magic. Everything was shifting inside him. It was as if someone were stirring up his innards like a stew. He felt his colon twist oddly. He didn’t understand why or how but he _knew_ his body was using the last of his magic to adjust his body for the baby to come out – the same way it had gone in!

He willed his legs to work, to help Malfoy in getting him to the den. He felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable. Panicked. A wolf dove for them and Echo intercepted, rumbling across the ground and disappearing in the mass of brawling bodies. Draco stopped.

 

Harry screamed again, his mind momentarily numb. It was as if two forces were vying for control over him – his wolf instincts and his humanity, all in the midst of blood-curdling pain.

 

Echo snarled in their direction, signalling for them to keep going. Malfoy hesitated but obeyed, flicking a feather-light charm in Harry's direction and part-dragging him toward the wooden door across the valley. After shouldering the door open, Draco struggled across the den and dropped Harry onto the bed. Harry grit his teeth against the urge to cry out, his hands flying down to his stomach as he rolled back on the bed, gasping for breath.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to take deep breaths or something?” Draco suggested awkwardly from where he stood across the den.

 

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry hissed, “The Cruciatus feels like bloody _Christmas_ compared to this! You’d already have passed out by now, you pansy!” He knew he was being quite unfair and rude but he couldn’t care less. He glared at the blond, watching the scowl form over his face.

 

“Poor Potty,” the blond snapped, “our pack is out there dying for us. So shut your face.” At the words ‘our pack’ Harry realised, in a moment of lucidity, how changed Malfoy was from the boy he’d met in Madam Malkin’s shop in Diagon Alley all those years ago. The blond had left his lover to help him, _him,_ Harry, while everyone else fought against those that threatened to take him away. And Ulric, he’d died for him…

 

“Mmf…M’sorrry,” Harry forced out through teeth clenched together with pain. “I didn’t mean…it just fucking hurts… _Shit_!”

 

Malfoy leant down at that with an expression of clear discomfiture, pushing the cloak off Harry's body and unclasping it when it was clear Harry's currently clumsy fingers were incapable. The blond winced as he looked down at him. “Is that…did you piss yourself?” he asked without malice, but with uncertainty and an odd prickling of fear on seeing Harry so weak. It apparently unnerved him more than the snarling howls of the wolves outside.

 

Harry groaned. “It’s the baby,” he said, looking down at his soaked trousers. He was cold, wet and his trousers were stained dark but they didn’t smell like blood entirely. There was definitely some there though. He winced as another wave of tight, clenching pain pulsed through him. Ghost, who had followed them in whined softly as if he wanted to help but didn’t know how. Harry patted his head gently.

 

“Please tell me I’m not going to have to help you give birth,” Draco said with a grimace.

 

Something inside Harry prickled at the notion. No. No one could be here. He needed to be by himself. He needed… A sharp gust of wind blew through the door they’d left ajar and Harry shuddered – at the sounds of the chaos from outside rather than the cold. Even though it _was_ October and he was half soaked in unpleasant fluids.

 

Draco gave him an uncertain glance before heading towards the door to close it. Once it was shut, they’d be protected from any interruptions. “Get those wet clothes off and pull the fur round you again,” he said stiffly, apparently determined to help after all.

 

It was only then that Harry remembered most of the furs that made his and Fenrir’s bed comfortable were outside in his hollow. _Where I should be,_ he thought as he kicked off his damp trousers and put the cloak back on. Fenrir’s scent really shouldn’t have had such a calming effect on him. But it did. It felt like ages since he’d seen him, he thought, looking up at the door that Malfoy was about to close. No sooner than the blond’s hand touched the wood, however, than the door flew open.

 

“Get out of my way _human_!” A man growled. Before Draco could even raise his wand, the intruder raised a huge arm and batted him aside, sending him hurtling into the stone wall. Harry heard a sickening crunch but his cry of horror turned into one of pain before it even left his lips. He writhed on the bed, one hand pressing on his stomach and the other reaching out to try and find the strength for a spell – any magic to defend himself. He was too exhausted. He’d spent so much of his (still new) power earlier and everything else was focussed on shifting his innards around and pushing his baby down safely. Down, down…

 

Oh, shit! It hurt so much.

 

Ghost leapt up, fangs sinking into the intruder’s arm. The man screamed, shaking the limb in an attempt to dislodge him. “Fucking _mongrel_!” he roared, snapping his own unnaturally white fangs, seizing a fistful of fur and tossing the adolescent wolf carelessly the same way he had Draco.

 

“Ghost, go and get Echo!” Harry cried as Ghost yelped, about to dive for the invader again. Harry opened his eyes to see his furry companion give him a look of uncertainty, before dodging their assailant’s next blow. They both knew Ghost was no match. They needed help, loathe as Harry was to admit it. “Go!” Harry screamed and saw that blur of fur whip out of sight before his eyes slammed shut in pain once more.

 

“I really don’t have the time to deal with you right now,” he groaned as Conall shifted the curtain around the bed aside to glare down at him unhindered. Harry sneered right back. “If things were different I’d burn your eyes out of their sockets.”

 

Conall chuckled darkly. “Such fire, Greyback really has given you too much freedom. It will be my honour to break you.” He sat down on the end of the bed watching him. He smoothed a hand over Harry's belly and held it there, even as Harry squirmed for freedom. “Come little one, you know it’s time. Your Greyback’s cub is ready to be born. Push it out for him quickly and I may leave it as a peace offering so that he need not mourn your disappearance alone.”

 

Not for the first time that night, Harry's chest ached at the thought of Fenrir coming home to find his pack slaughtered. To find their bed soiled with his blood and his child lying alone and crying in the middle of the mess – with Harry nowhere to be found.

 

 

Harry's hand flew down in defence, swiping at the revolting hand pawing at him. Conall flew back in horror with a snarl, four great gashes had torn his hand and wrist to ribbons. Harry looked down and was shocked to see serrated talons instead of nails at his fingertips, dripping with blood. He’d done that. Cut right through like butter. The bone was visible among the gore.

 

“Fuck!” Conall screamed, using his other hand to stem the bleeding. He must’ve torn an artery, Harry thought with satisfaction before rolling over onto his hands and knees instinctively to alleviate the pulsing pain.

 

There was the unmistakeable feeling of the baby moving down, his arse clenching and then stretching open as the weight pushed down against it. Holy shit! This was it. Pain unlike any he had felt before ripped through him and he screamed. It must have been what little magic he had left doing it because he knew his arse shouldn't be stretching open like that. It felt alien, agonising and yet the most natural thing. His instincts reared up like a pouncing tiger and seized control. He knew what to do.

 

If he could've seen himself he would've seen his gold eyes glow before he closed them, his claws dig into the bed, his toes curl and his head tuck into his chest. He shifted, rocking slightly in his position on all fours. Conall's presence was unwelcome but not a priority – he could still hear the enemy hissing as he licked frantically at his gaping wounds in an attempt to close them before he lost too much blood. Harry needed to get  his cub out before the enemy recovered.

 

 A long, slow, pained whine shuddered through his lips as he curled in on himself, legs spreading wide regardless of who could see. There was no shame, no pride, only pain, need and instinct to protect his young. The pressure inside him became unbearable as his cub slid down. The canal that expanded inside only during his fertile period and labour crushed his bowels and intestines to the side, making room for his cub to slide down further. This was why he hadn't eaten in so long – his insides needed to be as empty as possible to make room for his shifting innards. His birth canal and bowels were connected to the same entrance in the same way that the eye of his prick could emit both urine and semen. His body was ready now, had adjusted as the baby moved down but as it did so, his bladder was also crushed and its contents were squeezed out onto the bed between his legs. The smell made his nose wrinkle but his instincts overwhelmed any human embarrassment or shame – even if Conall had gone deathly quiet and was surely watching.

 

 With a grunt, Harry squirmed onto a clean patch of the bed. Still on his hands and knees, he braced himself with an inhuman growl when as the cub's head (about the size of an orange) pushed on the sore, stretched rim of his entrance. It had grown more and more limber the closer he got to this moment, gradually since conception and now though it hurt it stretched without tearing – further than the natural capacity of a human body. All was as it should be.

 

He hunkered down and spread his knees even wider. A piercing, bestial snarl of a scream wrenched from him. His insides convulsed and the head moved down and out. He felt something sting in his entrance. Maybe he had torn a little after all. He had no chance to find out. Reaching awkwardly between his legs, carefully keeping his claws averted he pulled one of the few furs left on the bed into a nest of sorts to help him catch his cub. A softer, exhausted cry stumbled over his lips as he felt the infant’s body twist. The skinny shoulders and then the rest of the body slid out with a repulsive sound and landed on the fur nest. 

 

 Panting heavily like a man half-drowned and gasping for air, Harry seized the fur next and dragged it up between his legs to lay under his chin. His body was expelling the afterbirth still and he grimaced. But there was no time to cry out, the little pink thing under his nose was unmoving and quiet. He knew it was wrong.

 

With a grunt he shifted his weight and sliced the umbilical cord with his claws, which receded immediately after before vanishing. Nudging his cub onto its side with his knuckles, he rubbed its back firmly. It needed to make a noise. It didn't smell hurt but it wasn't breathing either. It was slightly blue in colour. Tilting his head, Harry considered it a moment before continuing to rub. At that moment, he saw the little chest rise with breath, but there was still no sound.

 

 “That's enough,” the enemy's voice murmured behind him. Before Harry could even look back at the sound, a hand closed around his ankle and dragged him back – I away from his cub. At Harry's pained cry, it gave its own almost inaudible, gurgling whine. Harry called back to it, scrambling frantically to get back to his bare, cold infant. The enemy snarled above him as he tossed him onto the floor. Harry groaned in pain and looked up with exhausted, blurry eyes to see the red-head towering over him.

                                               

 “You've given Greyback his cub, it's time to go. Come,” Conall demanded.

 

 Harry drew back his lips in a snarl. He had to get back to his cub that was choking on the barely audible cries its tiny lungs were making. He'd gone into labour from the tussle earlier. Had his cub been harmed by that? Why was he choking? He needed to get it warm and clean. 

 

 At his hesitation, Conall glanced to the little body, vulnerable and naked, still covered in fluids on the bed. The red-head made his way over to it. Every muscle in Harry's body bunched at the sight of _anyone_ approaching his young. Something inside him snapped and he leapt into the air with a roar of rage. 

 

 Conall whirled around just in time to see Harry's body change midair. The world moved in slow motion and his eyes widened as the black wolf with vibrant gold eyes, rimmed with green slammed into him. He didn't have time to change. Great claws sank into his shoulders as they tumbled to the floor and the black wolf gave another snarling howl of rage before diving down, sinking his fangs into his throat.

 

The wolf's jaws locked tight around the cartilage. Conall chocked and spluttered as blood burst around those teeth. He scratched at Harry's back and neck, yanking and clawing at the tufts of black fur. Harry shook him roughly by the throat, growling deeply around the flesh. He felt the magic and life draining away beneath his fangs but the tiny, frightened cries from the bed only intensified his instincts to hold on. He shook Conall again and did not let go until the creature fell limp  and lifeless beneath him.

 

With a groan at his aching jaws, the black wolf released his kill and stepped back. He gagged at the taste, looking disinterestedly at the lifeless corpse that had dared to approach his cub, that had dared challenge his mate's claim over him. Harry bent down to rub his face along the rug, wiping away any trace of the enemy from him before he approached the sound on the bed. 

 

 What a sight he must have made, a black wolf with glowing eyes, stained with his own blood and bodily fluids, standing over the tiny, pink wriggling body on the bed. With a soft whine he pawed at the infant. It was cold and squirmy, it reeked of fear. Settling down so that his cub was laying against his warm, furry underbelly, he inclined his head to clean the distressed human-looking cub. He whined softly every now and then as he licked, trying to soothe the cries that made his own ears flicker unhappily.

 

When the infant was clean and pink, nicely warmed by his black fur, he gave a little stretch and his body morphed slowly back into the human flesh he was more accustomed to. Even ruled by instincts, he blinked a the sight of his crying baby and automatically glanced to the neatly folded blanket on the small shelf at the bedside. Reaching for it, he wrapped the cub up in the swaddling cloth that smelled of his mate and then fastened his mate's fur cloak around them both for good measure, huddling up on the floor in the corner away from the enemy's body and the soiled bed. 

 

 It was nice, warm and dark in the corner. His cub was warm and tucked against his chest beneath the cloak. With human, clawless hands he stroked the tiny creature's face gently, softy yips and grumbles slowly quieting those cries until the little body was calm against him. The cries had been quiet but strong. It smelled healthy, content now that the smells of his parents surrounded him in the dark warmth he'd associated with safety for so long inside the womb.

 

 Still less human than he'd been (despite the fact that all 'wolfish' attributes had vanished beside the gold eyes) Harry stared down at the wrinkled little body. Its eyes were closed, tiny fingers curled into fists around the blanket that had once been his father's. There was a thick mop of dark hair atop his head and he was nuzzling into Harry's chest as if he knew exactly who Harry was.

 

Harry hummed softly in contentment. His body ached and throbbed all over but he was safe in the dark. His gold eyes roved the little thing, no bigger than his forearm form elbow to wrist and with a tiny head he could cradle effortlessly in his hand. Helplessly tiny but healthy. His human insecurities nipped at his mind; was it ok that he was so small, even for a werewolf? He didn't weigh much either. But for all that, he'd never seen anything so perfectly formed – so perfect, full stop.

 

 Was this the son Fenrir had pictured before? Would Fenrir ever see him? His perfect, tiny son. Harry smiled and curled up a little more around him. How could he have ever contemplated _not_ having him? This certainly wasn't what he'd imagined for all these months. He'd been dreading it, fearing it like a life-sentence instead of this...gift.

 

He'd been bitter, scared and angry, but he’d never expected to find himself so smitten. The fear was still there – he could still hear the battle raging outside. Where was Fenrir? Was the pack alright? What was happening with Ron, Hermione, Voldemort? He didn’t have an answer any of that but his instincts were still in control, smothering his awareness of the outside world and focussing solely on the little boy pawing at his chest now.

 

 Blinking slowly, Harry followed the urge that crept up inside him and adjusted his son until he was in the crook of his arm. A tiny mouth latched onto his chest and sucked – _hard_. It ached. He winced but didn't move otherwise, watching it happen. The oddest drawing sensation tugged at his chest. His human mind would later marvel at how it was possible, for his chest hadn't grown or expanded, not changed in any way aesthetically. It looked the same and yet his baby was feeding there quite voraciously.

 

For now, with the wolf in control he merely yawned, watching his son gobble down his first meal greedily – exhausted physically and magically. The boy was absolutely tiny, fragile and helpless. With a fraction of Harry’s human fears creeping up, he supported the little body further by drawing his knees up to help his weak arms cradle him.

 

The fur enshrouded them both in warmth and Fenrir's scent. The ache that had been building up in his chest was easing now, like the pressure being let out. The drawing sensation made his face wrinkle oddly but it didn't hurt as such. He didn't think anything could hurt as much as what he'd just gone through.

 

 When his human mind regained control he would certainly freak out. But that would be later – much later. The wolf would be in control for some time yet, for the sake of both their well-being. 

 

 After some time his little cub yawned widely, his face and body scrunching up as he tried to stretch without full control of his limbs. Those eyes remained shut but that was fine. Harry couldn't sense any sign of distress – at least he didn't think so. The baby let out a small whine-gurgle and Harry whined back softly, tucking him tight into his chest, drawing the swaddling cloth with the wolf embellished on it around him more securely. Harry smiled without really comprehending the action. It was instinctual. But as he felt the tiny body go limp with sleep against him, he allowed himself to take a cursory sniff.

 

Where was his mate? He could smell most of the pack outside but his mate wasn't among them. Strangers, faceless scents mingled with those of his pack-mates. It put him on edge. He pushed himself as far back between the wall and the edge of the bed as he could go. His entire body ached. His lower body felt heavy and numb. But he could not sleep, could not rest.

 

 Suddenly something else, some faintly familiar presence registered to his senses. It - no, _they_ were drawing closer. His body was taut as a bowstring, ready to flee or pounce. The door to the den was still ajar from Conall's invasion; he was not protected by the magic. He was vulnerable and weak. He wouldn't be able to fight. He tried to make himself as small as possible. Where was his mate? Had he been abandoned?

 

 Suddenly a great gust from the outside signalling that the door had been pushed open wider rushed through the den. Harry shivered and his cub whimpered unhappily.

 

 “It's leading us in here,” A familiar female voice murmured urgently. "He must be here, Remus.”

 

 “Be careful, Hermione,” the male voice urged back. Harry shifted anxiously. There was another werewolf in his den. A wolf and a human both coming towards him. Then, suddenly they were both there, standing over him with wands aloft and glowing. He glanced up warily. The girl's eyes were huge and fearful, teary. She raised a hand to her mouth in shock.

 

 “Oh, Harry,” she gasped, “Oh, Harry!” She dove for him, arms wide…

 

 “No!” Remus cried and just as Harry snarled, bearing his teeth, Remus pulled her back out of reach of his snapping jaws. “He isn't himself – look at him,” Remus urged her. “Look at his eyes.” Yes, eyes that glowed gold still.

 

 Harry hunched back into the wall, his cub hidden from view thanks to the fur cloak. He had jerked awake at Harry's lunge but did not cry. Yes. They had to go into hiding.

 

 “Oh God, Remus, what have they done to him?" Hermione gasped. “He doesn't even recognise us!”

 

 “Ssshh!” Remus urged her, glancing back to the open door. The sounds of the battle still raged outside. They wanted to stay hidden too, Harry realised. His own eyes flickered to the side subtly. It seemed Draco's unconscious body was hidden where he had fallen thanks to the shadows that now clung to the den. Harry could smell he was alive still. If he remained unconscious and silent he would remain undiscovered – safe. It was already too late for Harry. The best he could do was sit still and wait silently, wait for an escape.

 

 “You see that body on the floor?” Remus asked, gesturing just behind them where Conall's corpse lay. “It's hard to tell – the wolfsbane inhibits my senses but I can see with my own eyes. Harry killed him, I'm sure of it. He's feral, Hermione. A werewolf. We have to be careful.”

 

A snarl from outside made the man twitch. He looked warily from the door to Harry, to Conall’s corpse before looking back to Harry again. “We need to move him,” he murmured.

 

Harry knew the words but couldn’t quite register their meaning. The man was watching him fully now though. It made him nervous. No one could discover his cub when he was this weak, when he couldn’t even defend himself.

 

“We’ll have to be quick, Hermione. Don’t touch him, whatever you do. If he really is a werewolf he could contaminate you with a bite without meaning to.” The man shifted as he spoke, coming closer so that he was only a foot away from Harry.

 

Harry gave a warning growl.

 

“When I give the word, you grab my arm and apparate us back. We only have a few minutes left before the wards preventing our entry are back up. Lupa and Hemming are sure to have realised Ron was covering for us.”

 

Hermione blinked, looking at Harry uncertainly. “But if he gets loose during apparition he might be splinched or worse,” she whispered, her voice laced with fear.

 

“We used all our resources to punch a hole in their wards,” Remus said impatiently. “It was nearly impossible to do once, it will _never_ work again. If the hole closes while we’re still in here we can’t apparate ourselves out. And you heard what Hemming said – the labyrinth of caves into here cannot be navigated by outsiders.” He stopped then, glancing to the chaos he could spy through the open door.

 

“Those other wolves they’re fighting with, they were waiting outside for them. I don’t think they could get in through the gates, just like Hemming said. But when we punched through…”

 

“We let them in too,” Hermione realised with horror. “Oh, Remus, all that bloodshed – we caused that! We let their wards down!”

 

“There’s no time, Hermione!” Remus snapped. “We need to move! The hole could close on us any minute! Do you want to be here when Greyback gets back to realise we were the ones that let the wolves in? Do you think he’ll care it was an accident?” There was panic in his voice now and Hermione’s eyes were wide. When it was clear she had no argument, Remus said again, “When I give the word. Get ready.”

 

Harry bared his teeth again like an animal when the man bent down in front of him. He was so weak, everything hurt. He wanted to run. Run. Yes. He needed to get away! With a snarl Harry leapt up across the bed, but as he moved the man tackled him to the ground. Harry howled, turning _just_ in time to take the brunt of the fall on his back. His son screamed but in the commotion, the two invaders didn’t seem to hear. The man knelt over him, pinning him to the ground, hands digging into Harry's shoulders with bruising force in an effort to keep hold of him.

 

“Hermione, now!” the man cried.

 

Harry whined and snarled in panic, wriggling and snapping at the man above. He didn’t dare release his vice-like grip on his cub to shove him off. They would have to kill him if they wanted to pry them apart.

 

Suddenly the girl lunged forward, seizing hold of the man’s forearm. A sharp tug yanked Harry from behind his navel. It hurt. It felt strange. He yelped in fear and pain but could not get free. The world was a blur of magic, colour and light. In a last ditch effort, Harry shoved up against the hands on his shoulders and sank his human teeth into the man’s neck. The man screamed and tensed but did not release him, not until they landed hard and heavy in a heap on a cold, grey doorstep.

 

“Get the door open!” the man gasped, still holding Harry down, Harry's teeth buried in his neck. Harry saw the front door swing open and the girl rushed inside. Gritting his teeth tight, he maintained his death grip on the man that dragged him into the house. The door slammed shut behind them and dark, dusty, muggy air filled his lungs. He felt trapped, suffocated. He did not let go of the man’s throat even as the creature cried out in pain, dragging him along a dark, narrow hall.

 

Blood filled his mouth. His blunt teeth had done damage after all.

 

From behind a set of thick, flaring drapes, a woman’s piercing voice screamed at the top of her lungs. “Mongrels! Half-breeds! Squalling bastard child! Mudbloods and filth!”

“Shut her up someone!” Hermione cried. “It’s making him worse!”

 

“What’s going on?” a younger, familiar male’s voice called from up the stairs as Harry was dragged passed them.

 

“Remus? Harry?” a woman’s voice this time.

 

“Open the door down into the kitchen!” Hermione cried. “No one is down there, it will be safe to let him go!”

 

Harry felt himself dragged through another doorway. Then, suddenly, the man released his hold on him and Harry took his chance. Unlocking his jaws he shrank back, colliding with a wall and staring frantically about him as he dashed the blood from his mouth.

 

The man was standing in the doorway a few inches from him, clasping his bloody neck. The girl was behind him, watching on while a young red-haired man and a pink-haired woman were fighting to close the drapes over a portrait of a screaming woman. Harry was trapped with only one way out – down the stairs to his right. Hesitating only a moment, he watched to make sure the bleeding man wouldn’t grab him again and flew down the stairs.

 

It was warm here. The lights were out and the clean smelling, empty darkness helped to calm his inflamed panic. His eyes darted around the large room. There was a long table to hide under, a curtained space under the sink. No. It needed to be safe, dark, warm….

 

“Kreacher is not knowing why,” a wheezing, low voice said from the side. Harry whirled to face it. His son was crying fitfully now in his arms as the odd-looking creature beside him continued, “But Master is needing a place to hide, to hide his young safe and warm just like the dogs did when they whelped.”

 

Had Harry been in the right mind, he might have realised that Kreacher’s improved mood after all they had gone through to fulfil Regulus’ final wishes had not faded. On the contrary, Kreacher was almost bouncing from foot-to-foot, wringing his hands in eagerness to help. Harry would also remember that house elves were notorious for their love of caring for children and it had been so long since Kreacher had heard one that his huge ears twitched at the sound of those cries. Yes, he would realise how badly Kreacher wanted to help the person who had helped him to fulfil Regulus’ wishes at last.

 

For now, however, his instincts were still reigning and all he could do was clutch the cloak tighter about him and his son, staring longingly at the full-sized dark cupboard that Kreacher had just opened for him.

 

“Kreacher does not remember, it has been so long – do all wizards act like this?”

 

Harry didn’t comprehend the words at that moment. The odd, fidgeting and yet familiar creature was still a threat. So he watched it carefully, even as his son’s small, whimpering cries grew more insistent.

 

“Master Harry moved me into Master Regulus’ room last he was here, does he remember?”

 

Harry just blinked at him.

 

“Kreacher cleaned out the cupboard. Good as new it is. Master will be safe there in the dark. For Kreacher is a good elf, he can sense what his Master needs.” With that, Kreacher snapped his fingers and after a few seconds, one of the spare cupboards at the far side of the room flew open and a pile of neatly laundered duvets hovered across the room.

 

Harry eyed them warily as the elf directed them into the cupboard, where he mumbled nonsensically to himself while arranging them into a thick, squashy nest on the floor of the magically enlarged cupboard. When he was finished, he stood back completely, way off to the side and gestured eagerly to the space. "Charms for warmth, clean, soft and dark – Kreacher will be helpful to the Master who helped to fulfil Master Regulus' wishes. Yes. Kreacher will serve – even is Master is a half-blood.”

 

 After a moment, Harry realised the elf was not going to move to touch him or his cub. Not yet at least and his body was lanced with pain, his limbs weary, eyes aching with tiredness. His son was still crying. He longed for the comfort of the new quiet place in front of him. His new hollow. The enemy was still upstairs but he could hide in here. Yes. He could rest and then he would be able to fight them if need be. Slowly, warily, eyes still on the elf, he edged into the cupboard. It was taller than him and wide enough for four of him if need be. Big enough but not too big. Perfect.

 

 He gave a soft sniff. It didn't smell of anything of consequence. The twist of magic from the elf earlier must've seen to that. He could spread his mate's scent in here – that would be good. Yes...

 

 Lowering himself down into the nest, he supported his squalling cub with one arm while he used the other to adjust the duvets how he wanted them. His still gold eyes did not leave the elf the whole time. After some fussing, he curled up in the nest and opened the fur cloak, leaving it over his back as a cover but letting it hang open at the front so that he could lay his cub on the nest in front of him. He was crying and squirming nearly clean out of his blanket, fretful from the scramble earlier but unharmed. Harry relaxed slightly, feathering his fingers down across the tiny face gently, uncertainly. He cocked his head, repeating the motion until the inconsolable sobs turned to tiny whimpers.

 

 After using one of the small white cloths he found at the side as a nappy, Harry snuggled down so that his son was cradled in the duvet against his chest, the blanket neatly tucked around him again and their alpha's cloak over them both. The baby blinked up at him drowsily as he calmed, his eyes the brightest green. He was beautiful. Harry yawned, circling his tiny son with an arm for added support and protection. He glanced out of the cupboard, only to see that the elf had hung a thick curtain over the doorway so that they were perfectly hidden in the warm dark of the new hollow.

 

 Harry shifted carefully. The enemy hadn't followed him down and the elf was still out there. The elf was not shaped like the others and kept his distance. Harry could still hear him mumbling to himself but he did not come any closer. But he did hear and sense movement outside the hollow of much larger bodies. Harry sniffed again and blinked. He could smell his pack, or two of them at least. He whined in confusion and the curtain shifted slightly, but did not open. Two of his pack-mates were right outside his hollow.

 

 “Sleep, Alpha Numero, we will protect your hollow from these meddling humans. No one will enter,” a deep voice assured him. It was just slightly familiar, he'd only heard it once or twice and he barely understood the words in the state he was in but he knew what their presence outside of his makeshift den meant. He would be protected as he rested, recovered, as he would have been back at the den. He had not been completely abandoned after all. But where was his mate? His cub was drinking eagerly from him again as he began to drift and Harry blinked at the sight of his tiny face a few times before at last, exhaustion took him.

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	18. Instincts

.: Chapter Eighteen :.

Instincts

 

 

Harry awoke to light rudely shining into his hollow, stabbing at his closed eyelids. With a wince he opened his eyes only to find that the thick curtain had been drawn back to expose him to the room beyond. There was a skirmish just outside his den. He could see it all. The man who had grabbed him earlier and stolen him from his pack was locked in a battle with a bulky man whose black hair was tousled from the fight. Harry had only seen him a few times but he knew him as pack. The voice he used to snarl obscenities at the enemy werewolf that had stolen him made Harry realise (in his still feral mind) that it was this man that had spoken to him through the curtain before.

 

 If he had had his right mind he would've known him as Hemming and the lean tall female on all-fours, snarling warningly at the stocky red-head trying to come to his companion’s aid was Lupa. He would have realised that Remus was locked in a punch-up with Hemming. Hermione, Ron, Tonks and Snape were all there too. But then, if he were in his right mind, he would've probably staggered to his feet and got between them despite the aching pain still emanating though his body. As it was, he could only watch warily, trusting the two he knew were pack to keep the 'enemy' away.

 

 He shifted up slightly so as to be ready in case they got too close. When he moved however, the fur cloak slid down and a whisk of cold air from the skirmish made his son's face crinkle as he awoke with a small cry. It was barely audible but it stopped everyone in the room. All eyes turned to him.

 

Harry pulled his mate's cloak back around him to ward off the chill and their gazes. They couldn't see his body this weak; he couldn't let them know he could not fight them off. He watched them cautiously, like an uncertain animal as he pulled his cub's blanket off to get to the main source of the infant’s discomfort – the source of the unpleasant smell that now found its way up his nostrils.

 

 “Oh my god!” Hermione gasped from across the room. “Oh no, Remus! We've taken one of their children!”

 

 “Miss Granger,” Snape began warningly, but she continued.

 

 “Harry must've been protecting it for them when the attack happened. It can't be more than a few days old! Remus it has to go back to its mother!”

 

 Remus grunted as Hemming stood back, the bulky wolf putting himself between the wizards and Harry. Remus scrambled to his feet, eyes on Hemming. 

 

 “We can't go back, Hermione. The defences around the valley are closed for good against intruders. Greyback is probably back there by now and realises what has happened–”

 

 “Lupin you are incredibly foolish if you cannot see what has happened here,” Snape began.

 

 “Enough, Severus!” Remus snapped in a voice so sharp it sounded quite unlike him. 

 

 “The Potions Master is the only one that has put two and two together!” Lupa snapped, straightening up with a growl at Ron when his hand twitched over his wand. “Do not use wizard magic in front of your friend, not unless you want to disrupt what little calm and rest he's managed to achieve with you clods trying to get involved in things you don't understand!” She hissed, staring him down even as the red-head's face turned puce with rage. When it was clear he wasn't going to use his wand, she looked back to Remus.

 

 “This feral state he is in is not our doing,” she explained tersely. “It is nature letting him simplify the world by running on instincts, freeing him from confusing, stressful human emotions until his body has recovered somewhat from his ordeal.”

 

 

 “You did not steal a random baby by accident,” Severus said simply. He had heard what had happened when Potter and his wolves has gone to the Dark Lord's hiding place. He hadn't been there himself but the inner circle hadn't stopped talking about it. If he had been able to escape Hogwarts without arousing suspicion earlier, he would've been able to tell Lupin and the others, possibly make them think twice before they brought the wrath of Fenrir Greyback down on them all. Any form of long-distance communication was too vulnerable to interception though. He sighed inwardly. It could not be helped.

 

Gryffindor as he was, Lupin had charged in without waiting to hear from him as they'd agreed. Now they could only play the hand that had been dealt in consequence. Lowering himself into the chair, he locked eyes with Potter as the boy set a fresh nappy on the infant and set the soiled one aside. It vanished instantly (thanks to the boy's elf no doubt). The boy's eyes were vibrant gold and wary, like a vulnerable animal. How long would this last?

 

Werewolf births were so delicate and secretive. What was known of them was minimal but Severus _knew_ that they could've seriously endangered Potter and the child by interrupting their recovery period, by dragging them away from their den and alpha. There was no way to tell how much damage had been done until Greyback started banging down their door. And Severus had no doubt that he would. Especially if the rumours about the way the boy had looked at Greyback were to be believed.

 

 “If you weren't so drugged up on wolfsbane you'd be able to smell it, Lupin,” Hemming murmured. “That baby is a few hours old, not even a day and it belongs to Fenrir and Harry. That is why Harry is still feral. He just gave birth – was triggered into it early it seems and he should be asleep surrounded by his pack with his mate, but _you_ –”

 

 “Saved him!” Ron spat. “They saved him!”

 

 “Potter was safer with Greyback than he ever will be here,” Severus interjected mildly.

 

 Remus looked horrified. “How can that be Harry and Greyback's son?” He stared at everyone in turn as if they held the answers. “The only ones who can carry a werewolf cub to term are those with the recessive gene. James and Lily didn't have it!”

 

 “They may not have known they carried it, Lupin. It can go generations back without ever being awakened,” Severus explained. “The fact of the matter is, Potter _is_ a carrier and has only hours ago birthed Greyback's son in the middle of battle. You have endangered the lives of the boy and the child. You have violated every tradition they hold by tearing him away from the pack when he and the infant need them most. You taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, did you not? You know the severity of what you have done and Greyback will be coming for him when he realises he is gone.”

 

 Remus' eyes darkened. “He won't have him – over my dead body!”

 

 Severus’ expression twisted. “I am sure Greyback will be more than happy to arrange that. Let me tell you, Lupin, rumour has it that during Potter's little display before the Dark Lord he was more than happy to be Greyback's consort.”

 

 “You take that back!” Ron snarled, disgusted. “Take it back!”

 

 “Stop it all of you!” Hermione cried, “can't you see all this arguing is upsetting him?!” At her exclamation, everyone fell silent. The feeble sounds of distress from the baby were the only thing to be heard besides the crackling fire in the oversized hearth.

 

 

 As the tension abated, Harry gradually relaxed. His pack-mates were still between him and the oddly familiar humans. They were all still again, but despite that his cub was still crying pitiably. After adjusting the nest of furs and making it comfortable once more he pulled his mate’s cloak round him as he lifted his cub to his chest.

 

 Abruptly rising to his feet, Snape headed for the stairs. “I have no desire to watch Potter sprawl there naked like the rest of you. Let me know when Greyback arrives – we will have our hands full with him.” With that, he disappeared up out of the kitchen.

 

 Tonks cleared her throat uncomfortably. She wasn't the only one feeling awkward at the realisation that Harry was in fact naked under the cloak. Though they hadn't seen more than his chest yet, it made them all very careful not to look in his direction for too long, lest they glimpse more than they bargained for.

 

After a moment or two, Harry leant back against the wall of the cupboard and cradled his son's tiny head to his chest to feed. He winced slightly as that mouth latched on. His chest was sore.

 

 “No bloody way am I watching this,” Ron murmured. “No bloody way.” With that, he too vanished. Hermione, however, merely sighed.

 

 “He'll recognise us again soon, won't he?” she asked Lupa when the she-wolf caught her eye. “He'll be himself again?”

 

 Lupa nodded slowly. “The sooner his body begins to recover the sooner he will come back to himself. He has been through a very traumatic experience, natural, yet traumatic,” she explained, speaking more gently to Hermione than she had to the others. “He will know your face again in a couple of days, I expect. He has changed but he is still Harry Potter – do not give up on him so easily, any of you.”

 

 Remus opened his mouth to say something in response, but any words about to leave him were cut short.

 

 “He needs you now more than ever,” Lupa added. When the cub stopped feeding, he began to cry once more and they all turned to see a tired and frustrated looking Harry growing quite lost and confused. Lowering herself to the stone floor, Lupa crawled towards them. On seeing Harry bristle at her approach, she whined submissively and exposed her throat, going down low on her belly. When she was close enough, she lay quite still, waiting for Harry to sniff her throat warily.

 

 Eventually he leant back against the wall and allowed her to extend her hand to him. In her hand was an ordinary baby's dummy. He blinked at her, not moving. Centimetre by centimetre she edged closer until she was half in the cupboard. He was wary but still. Pack helped to care for the cubs after all, he could allow her close but he would not let his cub be removed from him yet. Not even for a moment.

 

 “He's beautiful, Alpha Numero,” she cooed gently, in a voice one might use to soothe a savage beast. “Perfect, well done. Alpha will be so proud.” She ignored Remus' derisive sound and Harry, for his part seemed to have understood her words a little. He preened at the praise and allowed her to extend her hand again. She held Harry's gaze as she popped the object into his hand and waited for him to figure it out.

 

It was a fairly modern discovery but not an outlandish one that werewolf children (both born and turned) required a little more help soothing than others. Especially those in circumstances as uncomfortable as these. The baby was healthy and fed but still squalling as loud as his tiny lungs would allow and even driven by instinct, Harry was at a loss for what to do. Both needed sleep.

 

 After gesturing to her own mouth, Lupa and the others watched Harry raise the dummy up. He sniffed it carefully, licked the end and after much deliberation, popped it into his son's mouth. The noise stopped as the child sucked at it with an intense frown for a moment or two, until the little wrinkles in his skin evened out. His small body relaxed in Harry's arm. Visibly relaxing, relieved, Harry snuggled back down into his hollow and pulled his mate's cloak over them both, closing his eyes as Lupa edged out of the cupboard and pulled the curtain back across it once more.

 

“Salvation in a muggle corner shop,” Hemming muttered approvingly to her comrade. “I’m glad one of us thought of that earlier.”

 

Lupa smiled, rising fluidly to her feet.

 

 “He can't stay in a cupboard,” Remus began, “he has a bedroom cleaned and prepared upstairs for him–”

 

 “He may wish to make use of it when he is more himself, depending on how he is feeling,” Hemming interrupted. “He may not. Every mother is different.”

 

 Remus visibly cringed at the use of the word 'mother'.

 

 “He is content and feels safe in there,” Hemming continued. “You've risked more than enough already, you should know better. Don't interfere anymore. He'll be able to tell you what he wants with his own words soon enough.” He glanced to the drawn curtain briefly before focussing his gaze on Remus and Hermione, growling in barely contained frustration. “Why did you have to go against us? We’ve been helping you for months and you…” He grit his perfect white teeth. “How did you even bloody get in? Those wards are impenetrable. They’ve stood for decades without breach.”

 

Hermione and Remus shared a look, the former dropping her gaze to her hands, while Remus held Hemming’s eyes unwaveringly. “When it became clear that you were putting us off every time we asked about seeing Harry, we began to suspect foul play, can you blame us?”

 

Lupa sneered. “We trusted you. You should’ve offered us the same courtesy, not stabbed us in the back. Can you see now why we were so careful with what we told you?” she snapped. “If we’d told you he was mated to our alpha you’d have leapt to the worst conclusion – just like you have now.”

 

“What can be worse than taking an eighteen year old boy against his will?” Remus accused. “Making him…making him carry his _child_? You mean to make me regret what we did but the only thing I regret is not seeing through your lies sooner. You were covering for Greyback, weren’t you? Biding your time until Harry was completely brainwashed?”

 

“Sssh!” Hermione hissed softly when his voice began to rise. “Why couldn’t you have just told us what was happening?” Hermione tried cautiously. “Get a message to Harry somehow? Let him know we needed to see him, that we–”

 

“We thought you’d accepted everything we told you. How were we to know you were secretly plotting to tear into our home behind our backs?” Hemming replied. “I’ll ask you again, how did you get in?”

 

Hermione swallowed. “We…I found a spell in the Black library upstairs. It wouldn’t have worked except we…” She looked to Remus, face pink. “We used a lot of certain _artefacts_ to draw power from…”

 

Lupa stared. “Dark magic,” she seethed. “You used dark magic to penetrate our wards?” The disbelieving edge to her tone left Hermione no choice but to surrender the last of it.

 

“It required DNA from those that lived there – willingly given,” she whispered.

 

Both wolves froze. “The hair and blood you said you needed to help destroy the horcruxes?” Hemming breathed lowly. “The samples we gave you in good faith?”

 

Hermione worried her fingers, gaze dropping to her hands again. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I’m so sorry. But the wards were only down for a moment and the other ingredients, the artefacts required, they’re all gone now. No more. They can’t be dismantled again. Not by anyone.” She said this last part all in a rush, Remus’ gaze burning into her, willing her to keep silent about what their break-in had also let into the valley. At least for now. She wondered if Remus was thinking long-term, because once Greyback arrived and Hemming and Lupa realised what they’d unwittingly unleashed…

 

Hemming focussed his gaze back on the curtain again, hard-faced and stoic, as if trying to contain all emotion. “And you wizards wonder why we never trust you? You blacken the world with your self-importance, your mistakes and treachery and you do it all in the name of _the greater good.”_

 

Hermione’s eyes burned with unshed tears, with guilt. “We only wanted Harry back safely,” she murmured wretchedly. “He’d never have let it rest if he thought any of us were in trouble. We just wanted him to be safe…”

 

Lupa stared at her levelly. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry slept for a good few hours after that, as did the cub. If it weren't for the soft sound of breathing filling the room, they might have had cause for concern. Hemming and Lupa remained posted near the cupboard and Hermione came down regularly to see if he had emerged only to be disappointed. Kreacher had sent another fresh nappy and wipes in silently for when the two awoke, but otherwise none of the others returned.

 

 When eventually the baby began to cry again, signalling he was awake, Hermione who had been sitting at the table anxiously crept forwards. Slowly, carefully she slid the curtain back. Hemming and Lupa were watching her but did not stop her. Harry was nursing his son when the curtain was pulled aside enough for her to see. His still gold eyes glowed in the dimness as they stared at her as she inclined her head to the side in an impressive display to show she had been paying attention to Lupa earlier. When Harry did not growl or pounce, she pushed forwards the plate she was holding.

 

 “Please, Harry you need to eat,” she whispered, placing the plate of fruit and biscuits near to him along with the cup of tea she had been keeping warm. Harry blinked at her. She sighed. “How can he produce food for the baby if he doesn't eat?” she asked Hemming as she retreated slowly back to her chair by the table, leaving the curtain open so that Harry could watch her. He did not touch the food or tea. 

 

 “His body is built for survival. He'll seek food when he is ready,” Hemming explained. “Usually the alpha male would bring the food to his mate, but…”

 

 Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the newspaper on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry change the baby and curl up again, but his gold eyes remained on her. He didn't seem threatened, only interested in a wary sort of way. It was encouraging, even if he still hadn't touched the food.

 

Lifting the muggle paper she began to read aloud some nonsense article about the latest celebrity marriage sham. Though she knew very well he couldn't understand, she knew he was listening. His eyes were still open and he seemed more relaxed, if not still curious. She smiled at him reassuringly and continued to read until she realised he'd fallen back to sleep.

 

*                      *                      *

 

“You should get some sleep, Hermione,” Remus said as he pulled the cup of tea she had made him into his hands. It was around twenty-four hours now since they'd brought Harry here and he'd awoken around six times. Since the third, Hermione had barely left the kitchen. Remus looked at the stack of books Hermione had been reading from – muggle novels, he noticed. He had heard her reading to Harry earlier when he'd come down to find her. Kreacher had been sending meals to everyone in the drawing room so as not to disturb 'Master and young master' or so he'd said.

 

Kreacher seemed very enthused about the new baby actually and had gone on a mad cleaning spree in preparation for when ‘Young Master’ eventually emerged. Grimmauld Place had not looked so clean in decades.

 

“He watches me whenever he is awake,” Hermione explained, her voice hoarse from tiredness. “I think my reading soothes him. He recognises me a little more each time. I’m sure he’ll be back to himself again soon.”

 

Remus sighed. “Ron hasn’t seen you in some time,” he tried gently.

 

Hermione bristled. “Well he knows where I am,” she snapped. “With our friend who needs our support right now, not our judgement. When he gets his head out of his arse and realises that we are all Harry has right now, I’m sure he will come find us.”

 

“Is that directed at me also?” Remus asked.

 

Hermione flushed but said nothing.

 

 

Harry awoke a few minutes later to change the fussy baby. The baby was awake but not crying yet, the soother in his mouth doing its part to help, it seemed. Using the same technique as before, Hermione knelt in the entrance to the cupboard and swapped the plate of stale food from earlier for a plate of ham sandwiches. She held Harry's gaze for a moment and when he didn’t move, she edged closer, throat exposed, carrying a bowl of warm water

 

“Hermione,” Remus murmured warningly, tense where he sat at the table watching. Hemming and Lupa also watched on as always, but did not stop her. Perhaps they thought she knew what she was doing? Harry was letting her sit in the entrance to his den after all. As long as she didn’t try and push too far before he gave permission. His head was tilted to one side as he surveyed her. She smiled softly, pushing the bowl of warm water towards him and miming picking up the sponge before gesturing to the baby that was lying in a circle of sheets between Harry's knees.

 

Harry's lower body was still covered by the cloak thankfully. It made things slightly less awkward to watch when at last he seemed to grasp what she meant. With a soft whine, he divested his son’s body of the blanket embroidered with the wolf and started to sponge his body clean. The tiny boy wriggled unhappily, his face scrunching up in displeasure as Harry cleaned him gently. It was much more effective than a tongue bath, even ruled by his instincts he knew that much.

 

Caressing his little boy’s head with it, Harry found himself admiring the rosy pink hue of that skin and the thick dark curls. Yes. Perfect. His mate would be pleased when he came. For he would come. His mate would not abandon him. Would he? Had he been abandoned?

 

“Harry?” Hermione asked when she saw Harry had frozen. Her voice seemed to bring him back, however. He blinked at her before drying his damp; fussy cub and wrapping him back up in his embroidered blanket that smelled so much of his mate. Harry looked sad all of a sudden and Hermione, having nothing else to do when Harry was asleep had spoken enough with Hemming and Lupa to understand why.

 

“Greyback – that is…” she hesitated, “your mate is on his way, Harry. He hasn’t abandoned you.” Her voice was tentative but her words did the trick. Harry seemed to brighten. Hermione smiled uncertainly at him. She didn’t know what had happened over the last few months or how it had come to this, but she knew what atrocities newly whelped werewolves sometimes committed on instinct when they thought their mate or pack had abandoned them. Hemming and Lupa had told her and she'd consulted the Black library upstairs to be sure.

 

The mothers had been known to hurt or kill their cubs in a fit of instinct-driven madness, then kill themselves once they realised what they’d done. Unsurprisingly, that part hadn’t been _‘censored’_ by the ministry. But Harry, as ever, was different. He was making do with only the presence of two of his pack mates. He was fighting his instincts, following his heart that was obviously so full of the little infant in front of him.

 

Harry adored him, Hermione could see that and if he felt abandoned he might instinctually hurt his son or himself. Hermione couldn't let Harry do that. If it meant being the only one in this house that supported Harry and Greyback then she would do it, even if it did freak her out to see Harry comforted by Greyback's name.

 “He's so beautiful, Harry,” she said, gesturing to the baby who was now suckling happily on his dummy, blinking up at Harry with huge unnaturally green eyes. “Your mate will be so happy when he sees how well you've taken care of him.” It made Harry smile for the first time since she had found him. It was unnerving but reassuring that he seemed to be understanding her words more and more. Slowly lifting the sponge herself now, Hermione reached forwards – gradually so that Harry had time to see what she was doing. He froze. “You'll get an infection if you don't clean yourself,” Hermione said and when that got no reaction, she added, “you want to look and smell good for your mate when he arrives, don't you?”

 

 Harry blinked at that, then lifted his chin in acceptance, keeping his eyes on her at all times as she dabbed his face, neck, underarms and arms clean. A spell would've been better but werewolves were wary of human magic and besides, the water had natural magical properties that would do all they needed. 

 

 “Don't touch the baby,” Lupa warned her from outside the cupboard. “You've been down here for so long you smell and act like pack but he won't let you touch the cub. He'll kill you if you try.”

 

 Hermione flushed. She hadn't even looked at the baby and had no intention of pushing Harry that far. She wasn't stupid. “I know,” she said, jumping when a low hiss left Harry's lips as she touched his chest with the sponge. “Sorry,” she said, “is it sensitive? You do the rest, Harry.”

 

She flushed darkly and edged back out of the den to take refuge at the table when Harry began to wash the rest of himself. She had no desire to see the rest of him that close; although it was good he was taking care of himself as well as the cub. New mothers forgot sometimes and needed reminding from their mate.

 

Harry still did not touch the food or the tea, she noticed. When he finished cleaning and drying himself he merely pushed the bowl, sponge and towels out into the kitchen and curled up under the duvets and fur cloak to feed his cub. He whined softly at his boy and Hermione couldn't help but smile again. Remus, however, who had now appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, looked less than pleased.

 

 “What happened to Harry while he was with Greyback?” he asked, voice dangerously calm. “Why is he like this? And I don't just mean this odd 'instinctual' behaviour. I mean why did he become Greyback's…? What did Greyback do to get Harry as his mate? To get him to join him under the moon in _that way –_ the way he would need to, to make the child. I can't imagine Harry _willingly_ going along with any of it.”

 

 At his insinuation, Hermione gasped. Remus gave her a look that clearly said he was displeased with her earlier words with Harry about Greyback. Then he fixed his accusing gaze on Hemming and Lupa.

 

 “He has endured a great deal without you the last few months. He was _tortured_ for days by _Him_ for circe’s sake. He's changed,” Hemming said stiffly. “As we've been stuck here trying to help you ungrateful humans, we aren't privy to the ins and outs but _Harry_ is. He can explain all to you when he recovers himself.”

 

 “If he wants to, that is,” Lupa added, much to Remus' irritation. “If I awoke from a very traumatic experience I would hope my so-called friends would offer me support. Not judge me on things they cannot hope to understand.”

 

 Catching Harry's eye across the room, Hermione couldn't help but notice he seemed to be watching them all with tension. With a sigh, she flipped open the Daily Prophet and began to read aloud to him once more. Everyone else in the room seemed to understand the meaning of her actions and feel silent. Remus disappeared from the room again and after some time Harry drifted off, listening to Hermione's voice.

 

*                      *                      *

 

 It was very quiet. There was warmth and comforting dimness all around him. The world was blurry despite his glasses being on his face. Blinking back sleep a few times, Harry brought the world into focus. He was wrapped up in a nest of duvets with the familiar fur cloak over him like a blanket. He was in an oversized cupboard. The door to the cupboard and the curtain stood open so that he could see out into the familiar kitchen, illuminated softly by a set of floating candles over the long table and a softly crackling fire.

 

This was Grimmauld Place. Why was he here? Where where Fenrir, Ghost, Echo and Malfoy? He blinked again and he saw a familiar person reading quietly at the table. He frowned. “Hermione?” He watched her jump at the sudden sound of his voice, raspy from disuse in the quiet.

 

 She saw him. Saw his eyes shining green in the candlelight and she knew he was back. “Harry?” she gasped, dropping the volume with such carelessness as Harry had never seen her use with books. “Harry!” She flew to her feet but before she could reach him, a sharp cry erupted from the nest. Harry looked down and remembered all. 

 

His eyes grew wide. Holy fuck. His son. He had a son now. Unconsciously he ran his palm over his already flat stomach. It was tender but flat. Shit. It all came flooding back, the battle, the birth, the _rescue_ …

 

Oh no. Ron, Hermione, Remus, Tonks – _Snape,_ they had seen him… Oh God.

 

“Oh God,” he gasped, falling back against the wall as he stared down at his tiny wriggling baby that was crying pathetically. His son. He had never been so thrilled and yet terrified at the same time. Mostly terrified.

 

“Harry,” Hermione’s soft voice said. She was kneeling in the doorway of the cupboard and looking at him sympathetically. Where was everyone else? He could see someone he recognised as Hemming sitting outside the cupboard but there was no sign of anyone else. And he could not help but notice he was _grateful_ that neither had tried to touch his baby. His baby. That sounded so peculiar. Dreamlike.

 

“Harry, it’s alright. You remember it all, don’t you? This is your son.”

 

Harry swallowed, moistening his dry lips as he stared. It had been easier with his instincts in control, without his human insecurities and concerns to cloud his mind. But it, _he_ , the baby was crying. What was Harry meant to do? What did it want? Where was Fenrir? Hadn’t he realised he was missing yet? Wasn’t he supposed to be here getting Hermione and Ron?

 

“Where’s Fenrir?” he asked. Hermione looked shocked at his use of the wolf’s first name and Harry wondered just what had been happening over the last few months. Did Hermione and the others not know anything? Did he want them to? He needed to know what was going on.

 

“Alpha was here,” Hemming answered cautiously. “They wouldn’t even let him in the wards off of the street. He was trying to get in, to convince your humans that they had to come with him – to you. We were all trying. When he realised that Weasley was stalling us so that Hermione and Lupin could go and ‘rescue’ you, he left to try and stop it. My guess is he is making his way back here now he realises you’re gone.”

 

Harry blinked a few times as he processed this but as he opened his lips to speak, to ask what was taking Fenrir so long, to ask if Hemming knew what had happened to the pack the tiny infant squalled as loud as his lungs allowed. On instinct Harry reached out and pulled the boy to his chest. It was only as the cries dimmed at his closeness, as he was tucking the embroidered swaddling cloth around that vulnerable pink skin that he realised what he was doing and froze. Time froze along with him.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there for but it was long enough for Hermione to shift uncomfortably. “It’s alright, Harry,” she said gently. “It doesn’t change how _we_ feel about you. You have a baby–”

 

“With Fenrir Greyback,” he all-but gasped. “How can Remus, Bill, any of them…? He isn’t what we all thought, Hermione. He’s different, he’s–”

 

“Sssh,” she said soothingly, looking as if she wanted to hug him but didn’t dare. He was grateful for it. He didn’t want her to touch him, not anyone. Not yet.

 

“Harry it’s ok. You can take all the time in the world to talk about this. We know you’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to justify yourself. All this hasn’t changed how we feel about you.”

 

“How can it not have? I’ve changed, Hermione I’ve…I’ve given _birth_ for goodness sake! I’m not even a man anymore by biological standards!”

 

Hermione frowned. “Funny because when you were flashing everyone in the struggle when we brought you here you looked pretty male to me.” They both flushed darkly. The sheer embarrassing fact that she’d seen him naked, that under the cloak he was _still_ naked made his panic and desperation to justify himself calm a little. Bloody hell, he wished Fenrir was here. He knew he’d only make the situation worse with his temper but Harry wanted him regardless. Not just because of the cub either.

 

At that moment, the little boy in his arms made an unhappy gurgle and Harry laid him down to check his nappy. Nothing. He frowned. “This was easier when I was running on instincts. I sort of just _knew_ what he wanted. Now I just have to guess.”

 

Hermione smiled affectionately. “You’ll learn like all the other parents do. He is beautiful Harry. So tiny.”

 

“Thanks,” he said with an awkward blush, thankful and proud all the same. “He’s perfect. Can’t believe Fenrir and me made _this._ ” He felt the weight lifted from his shoulders when Hermione laughed. He still knew his feelings, his decisions would be challenged (by Ron and Remus in particular) but it helped that she at least seemed more concerned with making him feel at ease.

 

Purposefully avoiding her eyes, he pulled the fussy baby to his chest. He winced as that voracious mouth latched onto a sore nipple. “Little glutton,” he grumbled affectionately, feeling sick with embarrassment – although he had a feeling his instincts were still helping to mellow him out. He wasn’t running screaming for the hills at least. “Merlin, this is so bloody weird, Hermione.” He risked a glance at her then.

 

“Wizards can do all this too with the aid of magic and potions, you realise? I started looking it up when you first got here. It’s unusual but you’re not a freak, Harry.” She studied him for a moment. “If I’m honest, the others will have a harder time digesting that it’s _Greyback_ you’re with rather than the fact that you have a son. I’m expecting he’ll be here any time now.”

 

Harry glanced over her shoulder to where Hemming was watching carefully. He’d only seen the man a few times but he knew who he was and how he had scarcely moved from his post since he’d arrived here. When the man caught him looking, he nodded his head respectfully in acknowledgement.

 

“You’ve given my alpha a very healthy, strong son, Alpha Numero. He will be very happy,” Hemming said.

 

Harry nodded. It was awkward with them both watching him while a baby suckled him. He still felt he should hide, both because of the call of his instincts and his mortification. Looking down at his son, he watched that little mouth work hungrily, as if he were starving. Forgetting his audience at the sight of such a wonder, Harry smoothed his fingertips across the baby’s brow and watched it furrow. He did not stop eating, but two huge green eyes flickered open and looked up at him. Vivid emerald green.

 

When the baby finished, he began to fuss anew, leaving Harry at a loss for what to do until Hermione handed him the dummy that had fallen out of the tot’s mouth earlier. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly, unable to believe he’d forgotten it. As soon as he popped it in the baby’s mouth he calmed, sucking and staring up at him quietly. Harry couldn’t help himself, he gave a hesitant, overwhelmed smile. “He’s looking at me like he knows me,” he said.

 

“Of course he knows you,” Hemming said. “He can sense you. He’s young but his instincts will be bound to yours. Your bond is strong – it means a healthy cub.”

 

“He clearly loves you, Harry,” Hermione assured him. She paused then. “Why don’t you come out into the kitchen and have some tea and something to eat?”

 

Harry thought for a moment. His instincts were pleading to the negative but he didn’t want to let them rule him. He had relished surrendering to them back in the valley with the pack, but he was human too and he didn’t want to lose that part of himself. With a nod, he set the baby down briefly in the nest of blankets and waited for Hermione to back out of the way so he could discreetly pull on the loose cotton jogging bottoms that had been left just inside the cupboard door (by Kreacher no doubt, as he didn’t remember anyone physically setting them down there).

 

With the surprisingly soft, lightweight trousers on and Fenrir’s cloak wrapped around his shoulders, he held his son close to his chest again and edged slowly out of the cupboard. His limbs resisted, screamed with the wrongness of it all but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward until he was sat in a chair at the table, his son in the crook of one arm. Hermione beamed at him, pushing a cup of sweat, milky tea towards him before busying herself with some toast.

 

Hemming took a seat next to Harry, pausing with his hand on the chair to give Harry chance to refuse before he did so. “Most cannot bear to leave the den for a few days after the birth,” Hemming said, watching him in a mixture of curiosity and awe. “Nor do they usually let any but their mate or bloodlines so close. Not this soon. I am surprised.”

 

Harry blinked, shifting his son into the arm furthest away from Hermione and Hemming without thinking. “Because I let you and Hermione close?”

 

Hemming smiled. “Because you are so in control of your instincts – even at a time when they should still have full hold on you. You resist them to please your friends.”

 

“I resist because I don’t want to lose who I was just because _what_ I was has changed,” Harry explained, his voice still soft and weak from under-use. He brushed the backs of his knuckles over his son’s dark locks. Very thick for a newborn, he thought – not that he knew much about babies.

 

“The wolf and you are one in the same,” Hemming said gently.

 

“Only because I make it so,” Harry replied. Hemming nodded, proud and pleased of his answer, it seemed. At this point, Hermione pushed a plate of buttered toast and custard cream biscuits toward him, smiling happily as she sat next to Hemming – giving Harry his space. She _had_ been studying him to make this easier for him. That alone was enough to make Harry devour the toast and biscuits to the last crumb.

 

He also drank all of the tea, the warm sweetness a relief to his dry throat and though it was a tad awkward to do with the baby, neither asked to hold him. He was glad. He didn’t think he could push his instincts to let him go – didn’t want to regardless.

 

This tiny, precious life was his, the only thing that ever had been. His only blood family and so dependant on him for everything. The only thing that loved him without preamble. His baby. It was still weird to think the words but it didn’t stop happiness from warming his insides – as well as a little sick, light-headed feeling course. The feeling relaxed his still weary, sore body and allowed him to calmly finish his tea before he turned to Hemming.

 

“What’s been going on here since you and Lupa arrived?” he began. There was no sense in asking about the pack or the battle, Hemming would know nothing about it. He would save those questions for Fenrir when he arrived. If he arrived. His insides clenched at the thought.

 

What if the pack were…?

 

And Fenrir had rushed back to him only to find…

 

The toast and biscuits suddenly felt heavy in his belly.

 

“They’ve been helping us to get the horcruxes,” Hermione explained simply. But she waited then, leaving it to Hemming to divulge the events of the last few months.

 

Hemming regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, before speaking. Harry hadn’t spent a great deal of time with him before he and Lupa had headed off to help Hermione and the others. They didn't know each other that well but at the same time, they'd protected him when he’d needed them most, when he'd been at his most vulnerable. It made him slightly more at ease with them.

 

 “We tracked their scent here and obviously we couldn't get in,” Hemming explained simply. “We couldn't even see the house. We had to just sit it out.” He glanced to Hermione then, who was carefully avoiding his eye as he continued. “We sent a Patronus to them with a message, saying we'd come about you. Of course they'd heard Alpha had you but they assumed in the capacity of a prisoner, so out they came to meet us, setting up the privacy spells so the muggles couldn't see.”

 

 Harry nodded. He imagined the meeting hadn't gone as placidly as that but he appreciated Hemming's diplomacy.

 

 “It took some time to get them to believe us,” Hemming continued, "In the end, we had to let your witch friend here use legilimency on us to see that we were telling the truth.” He inclined his head to Hermione with a respectful smile.

 

Harry glanced to Hermione. She was brilliant, the best of their age, probably beyond that but he hadn't known she could do that kind of magic. She must've read his thoughts for she blushed slightly under his gaze.

 

 “They wouldn't allow Professor Snape or Remus near them with a wand,” she explained. “I've been reading up on it regardless and, well when it seemed we were at a stalemate, I suggested the idea. Professor Snape gave me some pointers. It wasn't perfect but I could see enough to know they were telling the truth.”

 

 Harry frowned. “But werewolves hate wizard magic.”

 

 “Such is the devotion to our Alpha and Alpha Numero,” Hemming said, smiling, reminding Harry of the warmness of the family unit he'd been taken away from. Something inside him ached unpleasantly. He hoped they were all alright. The chaos they'd been in the last time he'd seen them made him feel sick to contemplate.

 

 “So they let you in. What have you been doing all this time?” he asked.

 

 “They let us put them under the Secrecy Vow,” Hermione said, sipping her own tea now. “It's a lot like the _Fidelius_ , except they can't speak to anyone about the Horcruxes or anything else we agree in the spell. They can only speak about it to people we specify. So they've been helping us. We've got them all now, Harry. They're all gone. Only the Snake left to go.”

 

 “I killed the Snake,” he said softly, voice far-off, thoughtful, “Fenrir took me to _Targaletum_ and I…I sort of flipped and killed the Snake. It's gone.”

 

 Hermione's expression changed three times in the space of three minutes. First, discomfiture at the sound of Harry using Fenrir's given name, then confusion at the word _Targaletum_ and then shocked relief – the last horcrux was gone. “Oh, goodness, Harry! It's gone? It really has gone? We're nearly…it's nearly over!”

 

 Harry nodded. He felt the same emotions but was numb with it. As if he dare not believe it until there was physical proof. He listened to Hermione explain how they'd got the diadem, thanks to Snape, used the basilisk fang to destroy the horcruxes they'd found and it wasn’t until she finished explaining that he realised why he felt so hollow at the knowledge of something that should have given him such hope. This meant that he had to kill Voldemort, had to face him again and try and kill him – he was terrified. He felt cold at the thought of leaving his new son to face that _man_ again. He wasn't sure he could do it.

 

Hermione and Hemming were both watching him as if his thoughts were written all over his face.

 

“Oh, Harry,” she said softly, reaching out slowly, hesitantly to pet his hand. She didn't move to touch the baby and so he didn't flinch. He watched her hand stroke his reassuringly on the table and relished in the comfort of it in spite of whatever his instincts felt about it. “It's ok to be afraid,” she assured him.

 

 Harry winced at the accusation. “I'm not,” he insisted, even as his tightening chest disagreed with him. He glanced down at his son, who was blinking up at him contently, sucking voraciously on his dummy. “I just…things are different now, with him.”

 

 Hermione's eyes were glassy with understanding. Harry blinked at her. He appreciated her understanding but he didn't want her pity. It was the simple truth that, while of course he'd always been afraid, now he was faced with the fact that he might leave his child behind, just as his parents had with him. 

 

 “Things are different with you, too,” Hermione said gently. “What is _Targaletum_?”

 

 Perhaps only Hermione would realise the significance of his answer. “It's what we call... _Him._ You know,” he knew better than to say the name. But she nodded her understanding.

 

 “We?”

 

 “The pack,” he said.

 

 It was a long while before she spoke again, fingering the handle of her mug nervously. “Harry, you have to understand. Hemming and Lupa had been helping us for weeks, months even and we started to realise that every time we mentioned going to see you, speaking to you, they came up with an excuse for why we couldn't. We began to… _distrust them._ So Remus, Tonks, Ron and I, we made the plan to come see you, to rescue you.”

 

She looked at him then, perhaps reliving the horror of the battle that had been waging as they'd ‘rescued’ Harry from the pack. They were partly responsible for that bloodshed, for they had been the ones to let the wards down, no matter how unintentional it was. Hermione must have known that. He could see the haunted look in her eyes.

 

 “But the night we were setting out, Fenrir Greyback started prowling our doorstep – Harry we _panicked_!” she gasped. “The plan had been to wait for Professor Snape, but he hadn't come and when Greyback came we… Harry we _had_ to go, we couldn't risk Hemming and Lupa figuring out what we were about to do and so Ron let them outside to distract Greyback while Remus and I left.

 

“When we saw the chaos, when we saw you lying there with a corpse beside you – all feral and unable to recognise us…” She blinked tearfully at him, her hand clasping his tightly. “We didn't know until afterwards what was happening there, even Lupa and Hemming didn't know you were pregnant. I'm so sorry, Harry, we didn't know what danger we'd be putting you in – putting you _both_ in.”

 

_I should have contacted them myself,_ Harry thought wretchedly. Self-loathing and guilt lanced him like a spear through his chest. _I should’ve known. I should’ve asked Fenrir to go get them earlier – I should have asked Fenrir to come_ take _me to them! I hid away. I hid like a coward only worried about myself and then they came, they let the others in because of my stupidity and now everyone is…_

 

Turning his hand over, Harry grasped hers back firmly and gave her a weary, forced smile. “It's alright, you didn't know,” he said dully, reeking of self-deprecation. He hated it when she cried. Brave, strong, clever Hermione. It didn't sit well with him. And besides whose fault was this really? Hers for being worried about him? Or his, for thinking his friends would accept a stranger’s assurance that he was fine again and again without a word from him?

 

“What's done is done. Don't be upset. I should've realised you'd be worried. I didn't even think I just... I had a lot to think about over the last few months. A lot has changed, with me, I mean. A lot has happened." He glanced out to the back door. The way the house was built meant that while the front door from the street was on the ground floor, the basement kitchen lead out onto the garden at a lower level. He could just about see a slither of moonlight through the window. It felt unnatural, being this far away from it. He wanted to go out into it. Grimmauld Place was more suffocating than ever.

 

It was his fault. Whatever had happened to the people he cared about back at the valley, it was on his head. Maybe the rogues had disbanded after Conall, their ringleader had been killed – killed by him. As a wolf. The memory of the taste of his blood, of his transformation made a frisson of fear ripple through him. They could never know, none of them. He couldn’t bear for them to cringe away from him as they surely would.

 

 “You miss him,” Hemming said suddenly, quietly. 

 

 Harry's head snapped back to him at those words. He flushed slightly.

 

 Slowly, Hermione retrieved her hand. “Harry, what exactly happened to you with Greyback?” she worried her lip between her teeth. “I'm guessing our assumption he'd all-but kidnapped you is wrong, judging by the fact that you're in one piece but… Harry, I don't mean to sound judging, but what happened to make you… _you know,_ with Fenrir Greyback?”

 

 Harry flinched. This was it, the moment he had been dreading for months. Having to explain himself, justify himself and what he'd done with Fenrir. Fenrir had once told him he didn't have to explain himself to anyone, but if he wanted Hermione and the others to understand, he _would_ have to.

 

Sighing heavily, he glanced about the kitchen and saw the tea towel sitting on the clean pile of washing across the room. With a furrowed brow, he flicked his free hand and the cloth zoomed towards them and as it did so, transfigured itself into a basic sling that he pulled around his shoulder. His son whimpered unhappily about being moved into it but settled quickly snuggled with his face against Harry’s chest, his blanket still round him for warmth inside the makeshift carrier. 

 

 With a wince, Harry rolled his shoulder. It ached from holding the baby in one position for so long, which was a surprise given how tiny he was. When he turned his attention back to Hermione, however, she was wide-eyed with shock.

 

 “A lot has changed indeed,” she gasped. “Harry, that was…that was wandless magic. _Incredible_ wandless magic. Effortless. What has Greyback been teaching you? What's been happening since he took you from _Him?_ ”

 

Harry thought of the magic he'd used on the battlefield against Conall and the others, the power he'd felt rushing through him. It was coming so easily to him now. Awe and trepidation swelled in his throat.

 

 “He saved me, Hermione,” Harry said firmly. “Though I didn't realise it at the time. For a long while it felt just as much like a prison as Malfoy Manor but…well, things changed.” It was hard to remember how fervently he had hated Fenrir, the valley and everything they stood for. How he had called it a prison. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

 

 “What changed it?” she asked. Hemming was silently watching the exchange, evidently as interested in Harry's answer as Hermione.

 

 Harry looked down at his son, who bore such a stern little expression on his face that could have only been Fenrir's. He carded his fingers through the infant's thick curls of dark hair, certain that he felt the baby sniffing him eagerly, as if the scent comforted him. He tucked the baby's head under his chin and rubbed his back in slow instinctual motions as he spoke.

 

“I realised we were wrong about him, Fenrir, about all of them.” He looked to Hermione, pleading with her to understand. “They're no more monsters than Remus or Bill. They accept what they are but they aren't bloodthirsty beasts. And Merlin, Hermione if you only knew what they'd suffered…”

 

 In low, tired tones he explained to her what had happened to Fenrir's pack long ago (omitting any personal details to Fenrir), told her about their persecution, about how Fenrir had sensed what he was when he'd smelt his blood. He explained how they planned to lure Voldemort into a false sense of security, letting him believe he, Harry had been enslaved by Fenrir. How Fenrir's desire to take things slow had been dashed when they'd accidentally encountered the humans and Harry had unwittingly enticed Fenrir's wolf to…

 

He had gone quiet for a moment at that. It was still painful to think about, but he didn't blame Fenrir or himself. Sometimes things happened that people couldn't control, could only accept and deal with as best they could; he was beginning to understand it now.

 

He told her about the months that followed, about going to Voldemort, about the pack, about saving Malfoy, about the werewolf magic. Everything. Or he thought he had, until as he finished, movement in the doorway drew his eyes upwards and he saw Remus, Tonks and Ron stepping into the kitchen.

 

 “Sounds like a reasonable story, mate,” Ron said, his voice distant but not unkind, as if he were talking to someone mentally unstable. “But it sounds to us like Greyback's wolf forced itself on you like an animal. Or are you telling us you've fallen in love with him or something?” The latter was almost a derisive grimace. It made Harry's back straighten a little in irritation.

 

 “It wasn't Fenrir's fault,” Harry began, but Remus cut him off as they all reached the table. Ron and Tonks were staring uncertainly at him but Remus, he was looking from him to his son in confused anger.

 

 “That sounds exactly like something a victim would say. Stockholm syndrome, the muggles call it,” Remus said, resting his arms on the table wearily. “Harry, it's alright to admit what happened.”

 

 Harry stiffened. “I'm not an idiot, I know the situation was far from ideal, but we made the best of it – _he_ made the best of it, despite his faults.” He didn't like the way Remus' eyes kept drifting down to rest on his son, as if he was the cause of all this. He fought back the urge to growl and pulled the blanket the baby was swaddled in up inside the sling a little more to further comfort and shield him from those judging eyes. He loved Remus and the man's heart was in the right place, but he didn't understand what had happened the last few months.

 “Harry, you're still so young–”

 

 Setting his jaw, Harry glared defiantly at him. “But I'm old enough to face _Him_ and hunt horcruxes? Old enough to fight off a hundred demontors at once, old enough to head our side of the war?” Harry argued, not caring how bitter he sounded. He knew none of that was Remus' fault per se, but he was still treating him like a child in spite of that. Fenrir had never treated him like a child, that had been one of the things that he appreciated most about his life with him.

 

 Remus leant back off the table, flinching as if slapped.

 

 “You think you know him but none of you do,” Harry said firmly, “What we knew about him was all wrong.” He looked to Hemming for support and saw that Lupa had snuck back in as well and had come to stand at his side. She seemed very maternal towards him, a lot like Amoux and he wondered just who she had lost to wizarding kind all those years ago. “You obviously all heard that I told Hermione,” he continued. “Bill was an accident in the crossfire, Remus, you were a misunderstanding – he isn't evil–”

 

 “But he's not good either, Harry,” Ron said pleadingly, “you have to see that.”

 

 Harry frowned. “He's as good a person as me, if a little bad-tempered.” He paused for a moment, wondering how to make them understand. “He's… _good_ to me.” He cringed at how that sounded but it was all he could think to say. 

 

 “You're not his bitch,” Ron snapped, “not his bloody kept woman!”

 

 “Look, technically, if you want to simplify it, I _am_ his bitch – and chose to be! When I had my first full moon I chose him.”

 

 “You were not in your right mind, Harry,” Remus began.

 

Harry cut him off. “The wolf is only our base desires and instincts,” he said. “The need for food, for safety, for comfort. I wanted him, on a subconscious level before I even realised it myself and I chose him. It's just taken the rest of me a while to catch up. He didn't force himself on me, I chose him.” He stared meaningfully at Remus. “Your wolf, and all the other wolves like you, they're sad and angry because you are. Because you don't accept–”

 

“Accept my curse?” Remus growled. “Don’t embrace it the way Greyback and these murderers do?” He gestured with distaste to Hemming and Lupa. “Because that's what they are, Harry, murderers. They steal people's lives and now they've stolen yours by turning you, awakening something in you that would've been better left dormant.”

 

 “I thought so too, to start with, but they aren't like that, Remus. They fight because they have to, just like we do. They're no more murderers than you or me,” Harry said with a finality that couldn't be argued with. “Look,” he said through gritted teeth. “I trust him, he has more than earned that trust and I think you should trust my judgement.”  
  
 “We wish we could, mate,” Ron said sadly. “Merlin knows, I should've trusted you loads of times before and I didn't but this isn't the same. You've been held there against your will for months, in an environment completely wild and savage. You're not yourself.” Ron looked imploringly to him. “You've got all kinds of werewolf hormones and stuff running through you.” He was looking uncertainly at the bundle strapped to Harry's chest, not with aversion, more confusion, as if he truly couldn't think of how it had gotten there. Remus, Harry noted, was still considering his son with almost revulsion. It hurt. Remus was all he had left of his father, after all.  
  
 “Fenrir came to you to bring you to me,” Harry said through gritted teeth after a long silence. “I would've come myself but,” he looked down at his son's head of thick dark hair. There were auburn and copper flecks in the light, he thought, from his mother? “I was about to drop,” he said, trying for amusement but only Hermione, Hemming and Lupa smiled softly at his words. Ron looked almost ill, Remus enraged.

 

“He's not my lapdog but he's not a gaoler either. We're equals. They call me the Alpha Numero,” he gestured to Hemming and Lupa, staring straight into Remus' eyes, “Surely _you_ know what that means? I'm not a captive or toy to be broken and then tossed away. You know their hierarchy and you know their traditions. You know Fenrir and his pack follow their traditions even if you don't agree with them. I'm precious to them, they say I'm a gift. They have never hurt me, in fact I've never felt as safe as I did back there and you took me away from them when I needed them most!” He glared at Remus, frustrated as he realised the man wasn't understanding.  
  
 "I appreciate you were worried, you can't help what you did but you _can_ help wilfully misunderstanding me now,” Harry said sharply. His baby boy fussed, pawing at his chest. Harry rubbed his back gently, distractedly, but did not tear his eyes from Remus. “I feel more like a prisoner here with you than I ever did out there. Out there I was free, free from all the shit I've had pinned on me from the moment my parents died. Here I'm just being judged and suffocated.”  
  
 Remus' eyes glistened softly at that and Ron looked shocked and chastened. He dropped into the chair next to Hermione, as if silently showing his support but Remus did not budge.

 

Harry continued. “If I were to try and walk out of this door right now, would you let me go?” Harry asked softly.  
  
 Remus froze. “Harry,” he began brokenly, “Harry, you're all I… I promised Sirius if anything happened… I promised James and Lily. I can't let you go back there, it's bad enough you're suffering the same disease as me. You deserve better. You deserve… Harry I can't _give up_ on you. You never would have chosen this, I _know_ you wouldn't.”  
  
 “Maybe not before, but a lot has happened since last you saw me,” Harry said tiredly, sadly. He knew Remus meant well but the man's hatred of his own werewolf curse rendered him unable to understand what Harry was saying. “If you won't let me go, then you'd better hope Fenrir gets here soon. For all our sakes.  _You Know Who_ can't touch my mind with Fenrir near me, if he were to reach into me now my thoughts would be ripe for the picking.”  
  
 “That,” Hemming said softly, “and being apart from him so soon after you've birthed are equally worrying. You must understand, it's unnatural for you to be so coherent and in control. It's a tribute to how strong your character is that you are. It takes days before most wolves can utter coherent words. But you could still regress, you could still do something unforgiveable if your wolf thinks you've been abandoned.”  
  
 Harry stared at him. “You think if I feel abandoned I might hurt myself or even the baby.”

 

Remus looked between him and the baby again. “Perhaps it would be wise to give him to Kreacher for safekeeping until this is resolved? It might even help _you_ , Harry to remember who you were before–”   
  
 “If you try and take him from me I'll rip out your throat,” he said dangerously, his voice low and so unlike him that Hermione and Ron shifted in their seats, clearly afraid. Harry blinked as if coming back to himself. “I'm sorry,” he said to his friends. “Wolf thing, I think. It's all new to me as well. Since _The Hunt_ killed the others like me, the only things that are known are what people like Fenrir and Ulric remember.” His chest tightened painfully at the mention of Ulric, of how the old man had sacrificed himself to a bloody, gruesome death to save Harry. He looked down at his son and thought he would have to make sure he knew all about the man who'd saved their lives.   
  
 “I am not your enemy, Harry,” Remus said softly, pushing away from the table and heading for the stairs, “But I cannot let you become a victim to your own good nature, to your own tendency to see the best in people.” Before Harry could say a word, Remus disappeared up the stairs. Tonks, who had remained silent during the exchange, gave him a tight smile before following after her husband.

 

Briefly, Harry wondered where the baby was. Tonks had been due to have the baby in April, just before he was captured. She definitely wasn’t pregnant now. He swallowed, hard. Had it all gone alright? Was the baby ok? Had it inherited lycanthropy? Was it in the house somewhere? Was it…?

 

“She had a baby boy, Harry,” Hermione said gently, evidently realising why he had stared at the doorway Tonks and Remus had vanished through. “Edward Remus Lupin – Teddy, after his grandfather. He isn’t a werewolf. He’s a metamorphmagus like his mum.” She smiled thoughtfully. Harry immediately relaxed.

 

“He’s upstairs asleep – sleeps well through the night now,” Hermione said, seemingly pleased to have a topic, any topic to evade the silence that threatened to fall. “Remus and Tonks live here at the moment. Andromeda stops by too but she…she is handling her husband’s death badly and finds it difficult to deal with…”

 

“With Snape,” Ron said sharply, his mouth a thin line. “She blames him, can’t bear to look at him and he’s here a lot.”

 

Harry frowned. His stomach clenched with unease. “Snape was here – I…I heard him. I saw him.” He’d heard them mention him earlier but it only really seemed to click into place now. Snape had been communicating with them. He’d been standing in this very room, not ten feet from him! Snape!

 

Hermione’s eyes widened with panic. “No. No Harry, it’s alright he’s… He isn’t what we thought he was.”

 

“He killed Dumbledore,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Why has he been in my house? Sirius’ house?”

 

Hermione quickly explained all, everything, the truth about Snape and Dumbledore’s ‘arrangement’ for him to die. The truth about Snape’s loyalty. “We gave him veritaserum. It’s the truth, Harry.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to say to that and for a long time, nor did anyone else. He stared thoughtfully at his den from where he sat, longing for it, for the simplicity it offered him. He wanted to just curl up in there and wait for everything to stop. His instincts scratched at his throat, clawing for control. He should be in there right now, he should be isolated from everyone else until he was ready, recovered. Until his mate was here.

 

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look away. He would not hide in the cupboard like a child. He could not. He was done hiding.

  
Ron poured himself a cup of tea. “Mate, can I just ask,” he began hesitantly, as if he didn't really want to know the answer, “If there was no _You Know Who,_ would you have come back to us?”  
  
 “If there were no _You Know Who_ and no need to go back to Fenrir Greyback for health reasons,” Hermione added, before Harry could answer Ron's question, “would you go back to them rather than stay here with us? Harry,” she touched his arm gently, “Harry, do you love him?”

 

Silence again. Harry looked down into the tiny, sleepy little face against his sternum. Those green eyes like his were blinking tiredly. He'd thought all babies had blue eyes? Maybe wizarding children were different, maybe werewolves were different – he didn't really have anyone to ask.

 

The slightest movement made him glance up. He was sensitive to the smallest action now, his senses on high alert for danger to his newborn. He saw Ron watching him, shifting uncomfortably and gave him a small smile. It was so ordinary. As ever, his best mate was awkward and unsure of how to react for the best, so different to Hermione, who carried such determination to calculate the best course of action then plough ahead. He loved them both more than anything else in the life he'd left behind.

 

 “Whatever I decided, I wouldn't have left you in the lurch, wondering what had happened to me,” he said quietly, “I should've realised you'd be worried. I'm sorry, really I am. So much has happened.”

 

 “We can see that, mate,” Ron said gently, still uncertain of what to say. He kept looking at the baby as if he might explode at any minute. Harry couldn't bear it, his own best friend looking so lost for how to approach him.

 

 “Come over here,”  Harry sighed. Hemming shifted out of his chair between Hermione and Harry and moved to stand beside Lupa, obviously knowing what he was about to do. Ron, however, hesitated before rising to his feet but eventually made his way around the table to take the seat that Hemming had vacated. When he did sit, he was tense and on the edge of his chair.

 

Harry frowned. “I'm not going to bite you,” he snapped tersely. “But don't touch him, or me too quickly,” he added. “Don't touch him at all unless I say so.” He didn't think he could stand it, just the thought of them near his vulnerable cub was enough to set his teeth on edge, for someone else to touch him was out of the question. 

 

 Ron blinked at his harsh tone. “I don't have to sit here at all if you don't want,” he retorted hotly, ears going red.

 

 “It's his instincts, ginger,” Hemming interjected, “he can't help it. Didn't you hear me? It's a miracle he's out of his den and talking to you – you should be honoured that your friend is so determined to introduce you to his cub that he can set aside the instincts raging inside him that insist he flee from you.”

 

 Ron met Harry's eyes then thoughtfully. His lips parted soundlessly, stuttering over the right thing to say and Harry shook his head, taking pity on him.  “I think of them as pack, too,” he said to Hemming, suspecting that was the only way he could phrase it so that Hemming would understand.

 

 Harry leant back so that his two best friends' view of his cub was unhindered. The little pink face was resting against his chest, those cheeks moving gently as he sucked his dummy and those eyes were looking out at the other two without really seeing them. The silence that followed was a completely different kind. Hermione leaned forward slowly, subtly to get a better look while Ron was frozen in place, eyes fixed on the tiny person. 

 

 “Aren't babies eyes meant to be blue?” Ron murmured at last, his voice quiet but tinged with awe. Harry smiled. He was taking an interest at least, that was positive.

 

 “Eye colour depends on a protein called melanin, it's produced by cells in our body called melanocyte,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Melanocytes respond to light. If they only secrete a little melanin, babies have blue eyes, if they secrete a bit more, their eyes will look green or hazel. I read that as born werewolf babies develop fast in their first few months to catch up to the size and robustness of a human baby their age. So along with everything else, the melanin production after birth is accelerated. It's quite normal for their eyes to change colour far quicker than a human baby's might.”

 

 In a motion that echoed their adolescent years together, Ron and Harry stared at Hermione, awed and dumbfounded by the expanse of her knowledge, not for the first or last time. “You really do know everything, don't you, Hermione?” Ron murmured, still looking at those green eyes, so big in that tiny face.

 

 Hermione sat up a fraction straighter and patted the pile of books. On top of the muggle novels was a tattered, ancient tome called: _Supernatural Beings, Beasts and their Young_. “I was reading it to Harry, though I don't think he could understand me at the time.” Both she and Harry flushed, the latter shifting the baby in against his chest once more. He could feel a little trickle of spittle leak out against his chest from where his son was sucking the dummy so ferociously but didn't mind. He could feel how content he was at that moment and that was enough.

 

 After some time of acclimatising himself to his best friends being so close to the cub, he steeled himself against the desire to hide away and reached out one of his own hands. Hermione blinked, surprised, seeming to know what he was about to do. “Stay perfectly still,” Harry said warningly, taking Hermione's hand and bringing one of her fingers to brush slowly over the baby's chubby cheek. He was in control of her hand, could push it away at any moment if he felt his instincts roar in negation too loudly. He could manage it at the moment and the sight of wet emotion twinkling in Hermione's eyes made it a fraction easier.

 

 “Oh, Harry,” she breathed. “He is so beautiful. He loves you so much.”

 

 Harry felt something in his chest tighten. He was afraid of what was to come, of what kind of parent he would be and if he would survive so that he could be a parent. He was haunted by the thought of what might’ve become of the pack, the guilt he felt, felt lost wondering where Fenrir was but Hermione’s words made him giddily happy. Unconditional, selfless, thoughtless love. Family. He had it, even if it wasn't how he always imagined it might be.

 

 Silence reigned for some time. Ron's hand crept forward slowly to brush alongside Hermione's. Harry tensed but managed it. He was in control now, he was in charge not the instincts pounding in his veins. He was still Harry Potter. He wouldn't let anything change that. 

 

 “Aren't you scared you'll hurt him?” Ron asked, “he's so small!”

 

 Harry smirked nervously. “When I was all feral, I knew how to hold him, how to take care of him without thinking,” he explained, “it doesn't come as naturally now. I wish Fenrir were here, we were meant to do this together. He promised we would.” He only realised what he'd said when Ron withdrew his hand and sat back in his chair. Harry inhaled sharply and looked quickly to his best friends. They were both watching him cautiously again. They knew what had happened now, knew he hadn't been a prisoner at all, but they didn't know Fenrir like he did and they seemed alarmed by the affection in his voice when he spoke of him.

 

 “If it was literally just down to what I wanted and nothing else,” he began, slowly answering their question from earlier, “I don't know what I'd do, or what I'm going to do after this is all over. It's complicated.” He couldn't give them a clearer answer than that.

 

 Mostly in search of something, anything to do to disrupt the inescapable silence that had fallen, he reached forward and tugged one of the books that had been piled up towards him. On top of it sat a copy of the Daily Prophet. There was huge picture on the front page of his face, one of the photos they'd snapped of him as Dumbledore had whisked him away from the Ministry the night Sirius died. He looked so young there and stunned by grief. Was it really only a few years ago this had been taken? Next to that was an image of Fenrir, fresh out of Azkaban with hair and beard mottled with dirt and blood, his eyes wild. It looked horrendous, like a mad beast had taken advantage of a child – which was so far from the truth. It made him angry to see.

 

 Did the whole world think he'd been abused by Fenrir? He could hear it now, all of wizarding society talking about that poor Potter _boy,_ taken advantage of by a ferocious monster. The Fenrir he knew had never looked like this, not even when they'd first met. They knew Fenrir about as well as they knew him. He grit his teeth in frustration and stroked his son's back – more to calm himself than anything. The baby's clean, innocent smell whisked up his nostrils and soothed him a fraction as he read the article attached to the images.

 

_Death Eaters flee!_

 

_It has been reported that dozens and dozens of known Death Eaters have abandoned their posts across the United Kingdom, after they witnessed at an apparent meeting (location unknown) that He Who Must Not Be Named could not touch Fenrir Greyback magically. Fenrir Greyback, known murderer, ex-death eater and werewolf is rumoured to be in the company than our very own Chosen One. Harry Potter, 18, seemed to form an unstoppable team with Greyback and his pack – so formidable was their joined power that many of He Who Must Not Be Named's followers have gone into hiding._

 

_Prior to this, Harry Potter had not been heard from or seen since he was sighted in the Ministry last year, fleeing from the authorities. It is known that in April this year, he was in the custody of the Death Eaters and that he somehow escaped with the aid of the notorious Greyback. Their relationship has been the subject on everyone's lips, a forbidden, immoral union that…_

 

Harry shoved the paper away from him with distaste. It skidded across the table to land in front of Hemming who smiled grimly. “Do not concern yourself with what the wizards think when there are so much more important things to consider,” Hemming said, gesturing to the baby in his arms.

 

 Harry sighed. “I just don't want to be the subject of scandal and rumour every time I so much as sneeze,” he snapped. “They’re making it look like I’ve bought Fenrir’s power with sex or something.” He'd been shielded from this spiteful slander and gossip since Fenrir had liberated him from Voldemort's clutches in April – he'd forgotten how it got under his skin. 

 

 He really missed Fenrir. Tilting his head, he looked out the small window by the back door, as if expecting to see Fenrir stride through it with his trademark arrogance and bad temper. Where _was_ he?

 

“Have you got a name for him yet?” Ron asked, “Please tell me it’s not Fenrir Junior?” It was his attempt at lightening the thick atmosphere that had settled. Harry smiled softly, appreciating the attempt.

 

“I’ve got no idea what to call him,” he said, yawning widely at the same time as his son did. The dummy fell out of his mouth as he did so and Ron popped it back in. Harry smiled tiredly, pleased that his friend seemed more at ease with him. He had no clue what to call his son, after months of carrying him, he’d honestly had so many other things to worry about that he and Fenrir had never discussed it. He winced. Was that just the start of it? He’d already not made time for something as important as his son’s name? What type of father could he possibly be?

 

Staring down at his son’s now sleeping face, he tried to think of a name that Fenrir might think of. His siblings had been called Louden, Lyall, Llora and Wolfram. Should he try and think of a name like that? He frowned. Would the baby be a Greyback or a Potter?

 

“It’s tradition for the alpha male to name the cubs,” Lupa said brightly, her words reassuring him – he didn’t know if that was intentional or not. If she could’ve possibly guessed what he was thinking. “You’re tired, Alpha Numero, you should sleep while he sleeps.”

 

Harry blinked. He wanted to, he could feel his very bones aching with exhaustion. But he was afraid of Voldemort invading his dreams, afraid of leaving Ron and Hermione like this, still so uncertain. Looking at them both directly, he studied their faces. “You two need to get some sleep. I’ll be alright for the night. Really, don’t worry about me.” He didn’t know if they were worried about the same thing he was or not but they hesitated.

 

“Harry, do you think you can practice occlumency well enough to keep _Him_ out if he tries to look?” Hermione asked anxiously. “It’s unlikely he will, if he thinks you’re still with Greyback but if he were to try just once… Harry if he finds out we’ve destroyed the other horcruxes before we can reach him–”

 

“If he doesn’t sleep he will drop where he stands,” Lupa said, bristling. “We can deal with _Tergarletum_ if and when we need to. The Alpha is coming, once he is within range we will no longer have to worry about that. Your friend needs to sleep.”

 

Hermione bit her lip. Harry shook his head, signalling for her not to worry. He was glad she was thinking of these things, he knew it didn’t mean she didn’t care about him.

 

Ron fidgeted in his seat. “And what Hemming said,” he began awkwardly. “You know, about…about what might happen if you feel abandoned…” He swallowed hard.

 

Feeling uneasy, Harry looked down to his son again. There was no way in hell he would hurt him. It was just unthinkable. He’d rather chew off his own arm than do it. His wolf instincts were strong but he could throw off the _Imperius_ curse, and right now, he was sitting out there with them when all the instincts wanted was for him to be hiding back in the den.

 

“I won’t hurt him or myself,” Harry said, his faith in his own words unwavering. Anything else was simply impossible. “I’ve never been a text-book case, let’s face it. I’m out here sitting with you, letting you touch me, touch him when the wolf inside is screaming for me to curl up and wait for Fenrir to arrive. I can control it, I’m not a slave to my instincts.” He sighed, getting to his feet. His legs felt like jelly. Sleep really sounded blissful right now.

 

Making his way towards his den, he pulled Fenrir’s cloak around him more snugly. He felt cold all of a sudden, colder in this house than he ever had sleeping on the grass at night under the moon. “Hemming and Lupa will be watching me, if you’re really that worried.” He appreciated that they were worried though, for him and the baby, it was an encouraging notion to him more than anything else.

 

Voldemort he was worried about, but hurting his own son? He nuzzled into his dark hair, inhaling him. There was no chance of that. He’d been without Fenrir this long and the thought hadn’t so much as occurred to him, not even when his faith had wavered and he’d thought his mate had truly abandoned him. He knew his instincts, knew how strong they could be, could see how past wolves might have been driven to desperation with them. Especially if they thought they’d been left to fend for themselves, thought it may be best for their cubs to go quickly rather than starve to death because their mother could not find food.

 

But he wasn’t out in the wilderness and he wasn’t alone. He never would be. Never had been, not since he’d stepped foot on the Hogwart’s Express all those years ago.

 

“Mate,” Ron said slowly, “your room is all ready upstairs for you, you know. Tonks even dug up Teddy’s first bassinet for you to put the baby in. You can sleep in a real bed.”

 

Harry winced. Everything else he could push aside, could ignore, _just_. But he needed to be in his den to relax, to feel safe. He needed to curl up in the warm dark where the only smells were his, his mate’s and his son’s, if he had any hope of sleeping soundly. “This is just something I need to do,” he said, “it’s a wolf thing. I… I was taken from the den I made before. I can’t leave this one, not yet.” He was supposed to curl up there with his mate while his body recovered, while his son strengthened. He needed to do that and Fenrir wasn’t far away, he could feel it in his skin, warm and buzzing like soft pulses of electric.

 

With a glance out into early night beyond the window, he curled up in the pile of duvets once more. He gently eased his son out of the sling and set it aside. Hermione and Ron bid him goodnight, which he returned sleepily, fidgeting with the nest so that his son was supported against his warm chest. He took his glasses off and his entire body drooped as soon as they were both settled.

 

Dimly, he heard Hemming and Lupa moving around outside the den but didn’t care. They were there, on guard, that was all that mattered. Sleep tugged urgently at his senses and despite knowing Fenrir would probably in close enough range to protect him from Voldemort’s invasion soon, he tried to clear his mind before unconsciousness took him. The sound of his son’s breathing, his scent and Fenrir’s all helped him to relax enough to empty it as much as possible.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._

 


	19. He Who Was Born in a Dark Place

.: Chapter Nineteen :.

He Who Was Born in a Dark Place

 

 

 A sound that his body still wasn’t accustomed to tugged ferociously at his senses until he blinked unseeingly at the dimness of the cupboard. Lupa or Hemming had pulled the curtain back over for him while he slept it seemed. When his instincts recognised the sound as that of a baby crying, he bolted upright. His own baby, however, was lying placidly in his arms, awake but happily sucking on his dummy and watching him.

 

Harry frowned as the rest of him woke, his human mind catching up. He put his glasses back on. When he tugged the curtain aside, he saw that only a few oil lamps on the table brought light to the kitchen. Remus was pacing up and down in front of the counter, waiting for the saucepan of milk to heat over the AGA, a small, squalling baby squirming in his arms.

 

Harry froze. The baby’s hair was electric pink and he knew instantly that this was Teddy. He blinked, inhaling sharply and watched as Remus turned towards him.

 

“Sorry,” the man murmured, his voice weak and tired, as if he’d been up all night. “He’s usually so good with sleeping through the night – he’s just started teething though, having a hard time.” He gestured his head toward the AGA, the light from the table catching the silvery hairs that interspersed the blond on his head. “Just waiting for some milk.”

 

Moistening his dry lips, Harry nodded, tucking his head back in to pull his own silent son to his chest. He staggered out into the kitchen. Hemming was sitting just outside his cupboard and Lupa was sitting by the back door. They both looked immediately to Harry and he gave them reassuring looks as he approached Remus. His son turned his head toward the awful sound of the older baby boy crying, a scowl of confusion furrowing his brow.

 

 _This is so weird,_ Harry thought, _our sons are only seven months apart in age._ Teddy’s face was scrunched up and pink with pain and tears, but he was unmistakeably Remus’. Harry smiled. Teddy was chubby-cheeked and adorable, despite drooling a little from his teething gums.

 

“He’s a metamorphmagus,” Harry said, shifting his little bludger against his chest more comfortably. The baby blanket was open a little to allow skin to skin contact, it just felt right, he couldn’t explain why but it seemed to calm the baby too. He was frowning at the loud crying from Teddy, but not crying himself.

 

“Yes,” Remus said with a tired smile. “And not a werewolf either. I was so–” His words died on his tongue as he realised what he was about to say and he stopped, staring at Harry and the baby in his arms for a moment. When a disembodied magical _ping_ sounded, evidently signalling the milk was optimum temperature for Teddy, Remus turned away. He flicked his wand and directed the milk to pour itself into a bottle. Setting his wand down, he screwing the bottle shut with one hand and took a seat at the table, coaxing the nipple into Teddy’s mouth. The boy stopped screaming immediately.

Harry sat down too. He took a seat a few chairs from Remus to give the man the space he obviously wanted and to stop his instincts from prickling uncertainly with an ‘enemy’ wolf being so close to his own cub. Teddy’s large, tear-stained violet eyes were blinking at him curiously. They turned green once he’d been staring at him long enough, his hair becoming an untidy, obsidian copy of Harry's.

 

Harry gave a small laugh. “Does this mean he likes me?” he mused.

 

Remus smiled briefly, looking exhausted and haggard. “I suppose I should introduce you.” He let Teddy lean back against his chest, the tot’s hands coming up to hold the bottle along with Remus’. “Harry, this is Teddy, your godson.”

 

Harry blinked, stunned to silence. “Remus,” he breathed softly, unsure of what to say. Remus had given him such a meaningful position but had most likely done so before he’d found out exactly what had happened to him while he was with Fenrir. Had he changed his mind now? _He could’ve just not told you if he’d changed his mind,_ his mind supplied.

 

“He looks just like you, Remus,” he said at last.

 

Remus laughed. “I hope not.”

 

Teddy was gumming the nipple of the bottle as he drank. It was indeed soothing him. He seemed to be drifting slowly again. Little bludger was awake still but happily resting against Harry, cuddled against his chest. The unease was thick between the adults in the room now and Harry wondered if Remus would ever be able to accept that Fenrir hadn’t raped and pillaged him against his will. That Fenrir wasn’t the monster he thought he was.

 

He was just wondering if Remus would ever be able to accept what he was and therefore embrace a healthier, happier life. If he could accept Fenrir, accept his and Fenrir’s son, maybe he could accept himself as well? He’d seen how happy the turned werewolves in the pack were with their lives, under different circumstances, that could’ve been Remus too.

 

Looking around at his two pack mates, Harry said, “Can you give us a minute or two?”

 

Hemming and Lupa exchanged a look of uncertainty. Harry sighed. “I trust Remus,” he said firmly and it was the truth. He trusted Remus with his life, even if his treacherous instincts didn’t. Remus would never hurt him or his son – or any baby for that matter. “We can’t exactly brawl in here with the boys anyway,” he added. This seemed to convince them, for they slowly got to their feet and made their way towards the door.

 

“Alpha will have our necks for this,” Hemming said with a wince.

 

“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” Harry replied reassuringly. Hemming gave a tight smile and headed up the stairs.

 

“Just call if you need us,” Lupa said, offering Remus a final, warning look before following Hemming up, leaving them alone.

 

“They’re very protective over you,” Remus noticed, setting the bottle aside and pulling Teddy into the crook of his arm. The boy was dozing now, apparently soothed by the soft sound of their voices and his warm belly full of milk.

 

“The pack, they’re like a family. They care about me,” Harry said, hoping Remus would understand. As one of the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers they’d ever had and a werewolf himself, Remus knew the mechanics of a pack, of werewolf traditions but he didn’t know the emotional side of it. “Remus, they’re really not what we all thought they were.”

 

Remus looked away from him, as if it pained him to see the compassion in his eyes for a man he blamed for ruining his life. “Fenrir Greyback did vile, horrible things, Harry,” he said quietly, clutching his son to his chest as if he feared the same fate would befall him. “He tore people apart like an animal, he bit children – he _ruined_ me.”

 

Gritting his teeth against the instincts screaming inside him, Harry rose and sat himself back down right next to Remus. He smiled at him sadly, reaching out to brush the knuckle of his forefinger against Teddy’s tiny, bare toes. The boy was small yet still bigger that the infant in Harry's arms, it made Harry realise how little his son really was. He sucked in a breath.

 

 _He will get bigger,_ his mind assured him. _Eithne, Fenrir, Hemming, Lupa, all of them said so._ His thoughts drifted to Fenrir and what he would say and do when he saw his son for the first time. Did Fenrir even realise he’d had the baby? Probably not.

 

“I know you don’t want to believe me, Remus but Fenrir is not a mindless animal. He’s a boorish, bad-tempered arse with a past that’s made him bitter but he’s a good man.” He flushed darkly but forced himself to add the next part, knowing Remus needed to hear it. “He’s a good mate, lover, whatever you want to call it…”

 

Remus looked horrified, rather than reassured. “Oh, Harry,” he gasped. “Harry, he’s… You deserve more than that monster. Harry he…he has hurt so many people, so many _children_ …”

 

“I met all of the children he turned, Remus, I’ve lived with them all over the last few months,” he said, his voice low, mindful of the children, but firm. Remus needed to know he wasn’t a broken, abused boy. “They were the happiest, most carefree children I’ve ever met. They adored and respected Fenrir. He turned them, yes but he never hurt them.”

 

“He cursed them,” Remus retorted simply, “took them away from their families–”

“Who _abused_ them,” Harry said quickly, interrupting him. “Remus, Fenrir and his pack only turn and take in children who are abandoned, neglected or abused by their families. They give them a quick nip on the arm and raise them as their own. You may call it a curse but they don’t think of it that way. They love being werewolves, they love the pack, their family. They’re safe and happy. Remus, Fenrir _rescues_ children and gives them a new life away from pain, loneliness and suffering.”

 

Remus flinched; obviously not believing him, for after all (according to him) wasn’t the fact that Fenrir had turned him proof enough that this wasn’t the case? But it was more than that. It was a bone-deep reaction to unsettling memories bubbling to the surface unbidden.

 

Taking a long, deep breath to steel himself for what was to come, Harry looked at the man’s face. The tired, haggard face of a man he considered to be the only ‘parent-like’ figure he had left. It pained him to see his suffering, his sadness. Perhaps if Remus could understand what happened to him, he would get better? Biting the inside of his lip, Harry could only hope so.

 

“Remus?” he murmured at last hesitantly. “Were you abused as a child?”

 

The man’s face darkened as he raised his face to look at Harry. He was silent for a long time, blatantly haunted by his memories. His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, before he found his words. “My uncle,” he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. “On my mother’s side. He…” He grit his teeth. “He touched me, _sexually_. Made me do things I was too young to understand.”

 

Remus looked down at his son and pulled the little dressing gown the boy was wearing more snugly around him. Harry waited patiently, his embrace on his own son tensing as well. He understood what Remus was thinking, that something of that nature happening to their children was just simply unbearable.

 

“My parents didn’t find out until after I’d been turned,” Remus continued quietly. “When I was only a small child, just locking me in my room with a leash on to keep me from destroying things was enough to restrain me. They didn’t know about my _uncle’s_ visits to my room and when he snuck in one day, approaching my bed thinking he’d…” Remus swallowed, hard and Harry felt his own stomach churn with revulsion.

 

Harry could guess the rest. “He thought he’d molest you, like he’d always done, but you turned half way through.”

 

“He didn’t even realise what was happening to me until it was too late,” Remus murmured darkly. “I was young but he was drunk and unprepared. I savaged him. Tore him to pieces. My parents came in the next morning to find what remained of him all over my bedroom floor and me covered in blood.” He stared at Harry seriously then, self-loathing ripe on his worn features.

 

“I enjoyed it, Harry. I was too young to understand or remember much but I will never forget how good it felt to tear him to shreds, to make him suffer for everything he’d ever done to me.” Remus had gone deathly pale and looked quite sick. Harry reached out to touch him reassuringly but the man held up a hand to stop him. “That is part of the reason I loathe this curse. I _liked_ how it gave me the power back. I _enjoyed_ tearing my uncle to pieces in revenge, in a way I never could if I were merely human. That power is heady and seductive, it scared me, Harry. It _still_ scares me.”

 

Harry watched as the man looked down at baby Teddy again, love and fear in his eyes. “To know that I am so powerful, so dangerous that I could tear my family to pieces. I nearly killed you once too, Harry, don’t you remember?” His face was twisted with almost physical pain at the memory. “Harry, I would’ve killed you, Sirius, Hermione, Ron _and_ Snape and at the time, I would have relished the kill. How can that not be a curse?”

 

Harry did touch the man’s arm then, squeezing gently. “I know you think I’ve just been brainwashed or something but I’ve lived with wolves for the last few months and I know that this is true,” he began. “The wolfsbane is supposed to let you keep your own mind. That’s true and it works but it also pushes your wolf far below the surface, smothering it the rest of the days out of the month as well. It riles it up, like keeping it in a cage and suddenly letting it loose (when you forget your potion). It goes mad like a mindless, feral beast. The pack isn’t like that.”

 

Harry waited, letting his words sink in. “The wolves in the pack, when they turn they are just embodiments of their base instincts. They act like normal wolves not like mindless monsters. They kill to protect and to eat, yes but they aren’t savages. Draco and me were perfectly safe during the full moon there. They knew us still, knew we were theirs. Yes, they can overreact, they are still dangerous but so is any animal. So is any human for that matter.”

 

“Are you trying to tell me if I didn’t smother my wolf, after a time I could be as healthy and strong as Greyback and them,” Remus gestured with his chin toward the stairs Lupa and Hemming had vanished up. “Harry, the cost, the danger would be too great…”

 

Harry frowned. “Wolfsbane didn’t exist when you were in school, did it? When you used to run around with Dad, Sirius and Pettigrew?”

 

Remus blinked, evidently unsure where he was going with this. “No,” he said slowly.

 

“Sirius had a lot of trouble keeping you in check when I was thirteen, that night you almost killed us. But he and Dad used to keep you in check quite easily when you had your monthly romps out in the forest.”

 

Silence. A comprehending silence that made Remus stare at Harry with wide-eyed understanding and horror all at once. “You think I recognised them all when I used to change before the wolfsbane,” Remus whispered.

 

“Perhaps not for who they were, but you knew they were friends, you knew not to eat them, to attack them. You can’t tell me a stag wouldn’t have been a prime target for a werewolf’s meal? Why else wouldn’t you have tried to eat him? Remus, it makes sense.” He gripped Remus’ arm tighter. “You could come to the pack during the moon if you’re really unconvinced and worried about Tonks and Teddy. The pack hierarchy will keep you from hurting anyone else and you’d see, Remus you’d _feel_ the difference.”

 

When Remus didn’t say anything or even look at him for a long time, Harry released him and sat back, regarding him carefully. “Fenrir only turned you because he thought your dad was the one abusing you. He told me it was the one thing that he regretted and that he’d do anything to amend that mistake.”

 

Remus’ head snapped up to him. “Harry I… How do you know that’s the truth?”

 

“I’m his mate, we can’t lie to each other without the other sensing it. He spoke the truth, Remus, all of it. He also told me if you keep going this way, Teddy isn’t going to get much chance to know his father before the toll of fighting the wolf becomes too much for you.” He stared into those eyes, seeing the fear register there, watching Remus weigh up the pros and cons in his mind.

 

“It would mean the world to me if you tried, Remus and if it doesn’t work, what do you have to lose? The worst that will happen is your wolf will act out and Fenrir will put you in your place as alpha.”

 

Remus winced, his pride obviously having a hard time dealing with that image but Harry knew Remus, knew he would never let something like pride get in his way.

 

“Are you sure, Harry?” Remus asked in a voice Harry had never heard before. A voice that sounded as if it didn’t dare to hope.

 

“As sure as I am that I would never, ever hurt my son, even if I thought Fenrir had abandoned me,” he said firmly.

 

All of a sudden, Teddy stretched slowly in Remus’ arms, blinking tiredly at the two adults and then curiously at the baby in Harry's arms. _He’s never seen another baby before,_ Harry realised and smiled uncertainly at the little boy. “Hi Teddy,” Harry said.

 

Teddy blinked and Remus shifted forward, pushing Teddy into Harry's other arm, resting on his knee and against his chest. Teddy stared up at Harry's face, mesmerised by his glasses. His own hair and eyes were identical to Harry's still, which Harry took as an encouraging sign. Then the baby in Harry's other arm stretched tiredly, making a quiet whimpering sound, drawing Teddy’s attention to him.

 

“Ron and Hermione said you haven’t got a name for him yet,” Remus said.

 

Harry shook his head. “Apparently it’s the alpha’s role, which is just as well as I’m rubbish at that sort of thing.” He looked down at his son, who was staring with interest at Teddy. The seven month old reached out, patting the baby clumsily on the head. The younger infant winced and murmured unhappily.

 

“Gently, Teddy,” Remus said, taking Teddy’s wrist and helping the boy to pat the baby more gently. “He’s much smaller than you.”

 

“Baba!” Teddy gurgled.

 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry mused, smiling softly. Teddy beamed up at him, proud of himself. It made Harry's insides warm. He was so afraid of what type of parent he might be but Teddy seemed to like him alright – he was sitting on his lap without crying at any rate. It was encouraging.

 

“Baba!” Teddy said again happily.

 

“You’ll have to be a good boy and help me look after him, won’t you, Teddy?” Harry said. The little boy frowned in confusion but then nodded, apparently interested. Harry felt his instincts prickling at Remus’ closeness, but Teddy being between them helped. Infants weren’t seen as a threat, after all and would’ve been allowed into the den if he’d been back with the pack. His thoughts strayed to little Vilkas and the others. He hoped they were all alright.

 

“Remus,” Harry said after a while, when Teddy had grown sleepy in his grasp as well and was leaning against his chest, staring at the smaller baby as he drifted. Remus had sat back in his chair watching them carefully. He seemed very thoughtful since their conversation but it was something else that was worrying Harry, something he hadn’t wanted to mention before to the others in case…

 

 _In case it wasn’t normal,_ his mind supplied, _in case they told you it was something to worry about._ But Remus was still the only father-like figure he had left; it felt easier, less wrong to voice his fears to him. Unlike Ron, Hermione and the others, he didn’t have to pretend to be strong for them. He didn’t have to be strong for Fenrir either, but he still wasn’t here. Harry looked out the window of the back door to see that the sky had lightened somewhat but it was still very much dark outside with the very early morning hours.

 

“When the wards went down at the valley, one of the werewolves fighting against us, he came into the den. He attacked Draco, he…” He winced at the memory. “He wanted me. He was going to take me but when he tried to touch him,” he gestured to his little bludger, “I… Remus, I turned into a wolf.” He stared into Remus’ eyes, hoping he had some explanation, some reassurance for him.

 

“Consciously?” Remus murmured after an extended silence.

 

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t even think I… I don’t think I was capable of rational thought then. I just saw him going towards the bed and I… It just happened.” He looked down at the sleeping boys in his arms and wondered if Remus would insist again that he let them take his son from him, for his own safety. The prospect was foreign to him, unthinkable.

 

“Not a lot is known about those that carry recessive genes, like you, Harry,” Remus murmured quietly. “They are so protected by their packs. Their abilities so guarded. I have never heard of that happening before. Not ever. Only a turned or born werewolf can assume a werewolf form. Wizards can become animagi of course, but to do that takes years of practice – not a sheer rush of will. And a wolf and a werewolf are decidedly different in size-”

 

“No, I was definitely a werewolf, like Fenrir,” Harry muttered quickly, remembering all too well how his size had dwarfed Conall’s human form, had snuffed out his life with such little effort…

 

Harry swallowed hard and winced at the memory of blood on his tongue. He shivered. He’d killed someone. _Killed_ them…

 

“As much as I regret to say this…” Remus began, drawing Harry back from his dangerous thoughts. “Perhaps Greyback or one of his… _followers-_ ” he gestured to the doorway, clearly meaning Hemming or Lupa, “-might have some idea because Harry, as far as I am aware, this have never happened before.”

 

Harry winced. “What if there’s something wrong with me?” he murmured and then, voiced his true concern, the true reason he had avoided telling Hemming and Lupa. “What if they think they need to take him away from me as well?” He looked down at little bludger and his chest clenched at the thought. He had been strong when he had taken Conall down but if Hemming and Lupa thought his son needed to be taken from him for his own good, he didn’t think he could overpower them both at once.

 

Remus shifted in his seat then and Harry's head whipped up, muscles tense. It was all he could do to not snarl at the man. Remus must’ve seen it in his eyes, however, for he only said softly, “that boy is your world, isn’t he?”

 

Harry watched him carefully.

 

Remus smiled. “He loves you, dearly. You haven’t put him down for a moment, that’s characteristic of even a paranoid, overanxious first time _human_ parent but Harry, with you that is magnified one-hundred-fold by your instincts.”

 

“ _You_ even suggested he be taken from me,” Harry muttered cautiously. “I won’t let you. Any of you. He belongs with me, he’s mine he’s the only…” The only thing that was truly his. Just his. He saw Remus regard him knowingly and was forced to glance away. He felt like a silly, irrational child with Remus looking at him like that and he couldn’t bear it. “I killed that other wolf, the one whose corpse you saw? I killed the enemy while I was a wolf to stop him from touching my son. I’d do it again in an instant.”

 

“You think that makes you a bad person?” Remus asked. Harry's head snapped back to look at him.

 

“Well, doesn’t it?” he asked, voice a bit too loud, a bit too desperate. In his arms, both boys whined and fidgeted. Remus eased forward and took Teddy back into his lap, coaxing him to remain asleep. He was so natural, so at ease and Teddy wasn’t even awake before he was slumbering soundly again. Against Harry's chest, however, his tiny son whimpered unhappily. Harry summoned the sling to him and wrapped it back around him, sliding the baby into it and using its support to rock him gently against his chest. It seemed to help quiet him.

 

 _I have a long way to go,_ he thought, smoothing a hand through the tiny boy’s thick locks before glancing up and finding Remus’ eyes back on him. He fidgeted awkwardly. With his human mind in control again he felt…awkward with people watching him dote over his son. Embarrassed at his affections being so obvious, afraid of their judgement or that he was doing something so wrong or clumsily…

 

“I would kill in an instant to save my son’s life, Harry. It’s part of a parent’s love. It’s the same force that drove your parents to stand between Voldemort and you that night in Godric’s Hollow.”

 

That sentiment didn’t make Harry feel better. “But it’s what drives you to hate your werewolf nature as well,” he said. “You’re scared it might make you hurt Teddy and you can’t understand that I just _won’t_ hurt my son, even if I do somehow transform into a wolf again. Maybe if I were poisoned by the wolfsbane but I’m not, Remus. I’m just…I’m just _me_. You want me to give him up until I’m _stable_ again or something?” His voice was quiet but husky with panic and anger. He wrapped his arms around the little body against his own. That tiny head lolled against his chest, little fingers pawing at his skin. He loved him, so much, it hurt.

 

“You think I’m a bad dad because I won’t let you have him?”

 

Remus sighed. “Harry,” he said gently, “I think you’re a very good person who has been through a lot the last few months. Your body has suffered a great trauma and I don’t think right now you’re in a condition to realise how dangerous you could be to–”

“I may be unstable, I may be going mental with these instincts inside me and Merlin only knows what else, but I would never hurt him,” Harry said rigidly. “Even when I was the wolf, I…” He flushed darkly. “I was on an instinct-high or something but all I did was give him a tongue-bath. He was perfectly safe with me, even then, when I had just torn out that bastard Conall’s throat.”

 

Harry got to his feet, wrapping Fenrir’s cloak around him and the baby, so that the baby wouldn’t even be visible to anyone that stood before him. He’d been sure Remus would be able to make him feel better, would understand but he was too torn by his own loathing for the part of him he called a curse to comprehend that he was _not_ a slathering beast when his instincts took over.

 

The warm, simplicity of his den was calling to him. His head was starting to hurt. He’d thought Remus, his only parent-like figure remaining would be able to offer some reassurance, some comfort. But he’d never felt so alone.

 

Suddenly, a long, haunting, mournful howl pierced the air. Harry and Remus both froze. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck and arms stood on end. His stomach clenched and his heart thudded frantically. Heat he’d thought he’d long forgotten swelled there and rippled through him. Slowly, his head turned to the back door. The moonlight was streaming in. An awareness rose in him, like the kind one got when someone was standing behind them, yet different. Another howl called from the outside – called to _him_. Fenrir was here.

 

Turning fully to the back door, Harry stared at it for a moment. No, that wasn’t the quickest way to get to his mate. He whirled on his heel and headed for the stairs. “Harry?” he heard from behind him, but he did not respond. The name didn’t quite make sense to him at the moment, though the voice was familiar. He had to get outside. He had to get to his mate.

 

“Harry?!”

 

Several people stumbled into the hall as he walked down it towards the door.

 

“What’s the matter?” a female voice he recognised called. He walked passed them as they stood, confused and half-asleep.

 

“Hermione!” the werewolf behind him called, a squalling baby’s cries filling the air.

 

Another deeper, disembodied voice was now screaming: “TRAITORS! FILTHY WEREWOLF AND MUDBLOOD SCUM!”

 

“Hermione! Stop him! Don’t let him go! Greyback is out there!”

 

“I’ll stop him-”

 

“No, Ron!” the girl’s voice, “don’t use magic on him! He looks the same as he did before, when he was driven by instincts, don’t use magic!”

 

Too late.

 

“ _Immobulus_!” Ron cried.

 

A sharp, electric burst erupted behind him and Harry whirled lightning fast to see the spell. He dodged it with a snarl and it hit the roaring portrait, freezing it mid-scream. Harry backed away into the wall, one hand clawing at the door while the other held the cloak tight around him and his son, still hidden from view. The baby wasn’t crying but he was squirming against him unhappily. He would be alright, once they got to his mate. He was so close, just outside! He hadn’t been abandoned!

 

“Stop this!” At the voice of one of his pack-mates, Harry felt a swell of hope. They would understand better than these humans! They would help him reach his mate. He needed to be out there.

 

“You raise your wand again Weasley and I’ll rip that arm off!” the female pack-mate snarled.

 

“Stop fighting!” the girl, the one who’d come to him in his den.

 

“If you do not let our alpha in here he will attract the attention of every muggle and death eater within a hundred miles!” the male pack-mate snapped. “He’ll stalk outside the wards until they all come down on us and when he finally gets in he’ll be lost to his built-up instincts.”

 

As if on cue, another howl filled the air. It sounded desperate, angry and lost all at once. Harry whined softly in answer and struggled with the door handle. He glanced up and saw why it wouldn’t open, the werewolf, the skinny one from downstairs had his arm braced against it, stopping it from opening. Harry began to growl warningly but the sight of the little boy in the werewolf’s arms stopped him. He grumbled, displeased, slinking back against the wall.

 

Another howl called him. He writhed against the wall, staring up at the wolf that blocked his exit, using the human child as a shield against violence. He whined, willing the man to understand.

 

“Let the alpha inside the wards,” female pack-mate insisted.

 

“He’ll kill us all!” the red-headed human cried. “You said it yourself, he’s in a frenzy!”

 

“Because you’re keeping him from his mate and child!” the female pack-mate argued. “And if you don’t let him in, you’ll have _Tergarletum_ , the surrounding muggles and the wizarding world in general knowing your location. You have no choice!”

 

A long silence followed, a stalemate that was pierced by another eerie cry. Harry howled back. The sound was piteous and weak.

 

At last, the girl who had come to his den, the girl, barely a woman spoke. “Let him into the back garden,” she said quietly. “The wards on the house are separate. Let him there first, under the privacy charms of the plot, then we can stand on the threshold of the house wards and try and…you know, negotiate with him.”

At the door, the older, skinny werewolf grimaced. “There is no reasoning with that monster.”

 

“There is no better option,” an older human female said, approaching the werewolf that was her mate with an expression born of sadness, fear and anxiety. She stared at the skinny wolf and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, before taking her son from his arms, shushing him gently.

 

“Remus, Hermione’s plan is the only one we have,” she said. “He’s pacing the perimeter of the block, let him into the wards on the garden and we’ll all go out there-”

 

“No,” Remus said sharply. “You stay inside with Teddy, all of you, stay inside-”

 

“Greyback needs to see Harry or he’ll not stop,” the human girl piped up again. She had come closer now and was standing right in front of Harry, gently, cautiously urging him to his feet. Warily, he followed her movements until he was upright. She was acting like pack, she smelt like it. Maybe she _was,_ despite being human? Like his blond human back at the valley…

 

“Here,” the girl said then, snatching up a piece of parchment from the small table beside the door. Hesitantly, carefully she drew her wand, eyes reassuringly on Harry the whole time and summoned a quill. She used it to scrawl out a message on the scrap of paper. She thrust it at the male pack mate. “They won’t let Harry go out there, but Greyback can’t get into even the garden wards without invitation from a secret keeper. That has my invitation. You’ll have to calm him down so he can read it so he can get in the garden. We’ll meet you there.”

 

The male pack-mate winced. “You underestimate the power of the bond they share,” he gestured to Harry. “You see what he becomes when lost to his instincts after having his cub? Greyback is no less affected. He doesn’t even know his mate has given birth! He thinks you’ve stolen his pregnant mate from his den! He’s not going to listen to me!”

 

“These wizards are stubborn, Hemming,” the female pack-mate growled, “and they’ll start throwing hexes around if we try and take Harry out there ourselves. This is all we can do.” She stared into her companion’s eyes then looked at Harry. “Go to our alpha, it’s our only chance.” She then turned to Harry fully, her neck exposed. He did not so much as hesitate, he shot forwards, so that he was safely between her and the human girl who seemed nearly pack. There were too many people in this tight, cramped hallway, too many foreign yet familiar smells. It made his head ache.

 

“This way,” the human girl said gently. She’d put her wand away again, Harry felt a bit better about letting her and the female pack-mate guide him back downstairs. The red-headed human and the werewolf followed them down and when the back door was opened by the girl at his side, Harry flew out eagerly. He let the female pack-mate go first.

 

At the bidding of the skinny werewolf, she grudgingly came to a halt at the edge of the ragged, weed-ridden patio. The air he sensed blowing from beyond the patio seemed lighter, less heavy with wizard magic somehow and Harry knew there was some kind of shield spell there, similar to the magic protecting the valley. Why wasn’t his pack-mate going further, he wondered? He came to stand just behind her and the human girl, safely hidden with the skinny werewolf and the human red-head behind him –not too close. He was tense, wary of their presence but fidgeting restlessly still. He could feel his mate coming closer.

 

Suddenly, the shrubs just beyond the tall stone wall at the far end of the garden shuddered. A discontented growl sounded and then a large, crisp-white wolf ambled over the fence and into few. He had a shallow bite to his right shoulder that he favoured, but he was otherwise unhurt, if a bit dishevelled. Harry knew his mate had scuffled with him for acting as a barrier between them, if however unintentionally.

 

Harry whined gently, wanting to know his pack-mate was alright. The white wolf stopped at the sound, then yipped back. He made his way across the grass quickly but silently, transforming back to a man as he reached them. He was naked, scuffed and panting but otherwise alright. The humans around Harry fidgeted uncomfortably at his proximity, the girl flushing at the brazen nakedness. Humans were funny.

 

Harry was staring at the fence that his pack-mate had scrambled over a moment before. Would his mate come that way? Where was he? Why had he stopped calling?

 

“You owe me for that, Lupin,” the male pack-mate grumbled. “He’s in a bloody foul mood.” He rolled his wounded shoulder with displeasure.

 

“Is he coming?” the human girl asked. She sounded afraid. Harry frowned, understanding the feelings if not the words. He leant forwards and butted his head against her shoulder. She glanced back at him and smiled uncertainly.

 

Male pack-mate nodded. “After I submitted he calmed down enough to listen, even if he’s not capable of speech. He read the invitation. Tore it to shreds after, mind you,” he mused. “But he’s coming.” He stretched, breathing in the very early morning freshness. “I can sense him.” He looked directly at Harry then. “You can too.”

 

Harry cocked his head and pulled the cloak tight around him, his cub silent but awake, squirming in the warmth of his chest. Before Harry could do anything else, however, the same scrabbling of before, the same disruption to the shrubbery and a foul-tempered growl stilled them all. A flash of silver made Harry's mouth go dry and then the large silver wolf was landing on all-fours in the garden. He stopped at the sight of them all and bowed his head, a low, angry growl tugging back his jowls from his teeth.

 

Around Harry, the humans tensed and took a step back. The human girl grabbed his arm, as did the boy. He tensed but otherwise did not react, could not take his eyes off the moon-bathed glory of his mate’s silver fur. It rippled over powerful muscle as the wolf approached slowly, still growling. He was angry, upset. Harry needed to go to him, he moved forward, but the girl did not let go. He struggled against her.

 

“Keep him within the house wards,” the skinny werewolf said carefully.

 

Harry whined, struggles intensifying.

 

“At least let them see each other, then,” the female pack-mate grunted, stepping to the side so that Harry was in full view. That stopped the silver wolf in his tracks. His ears drew back in suspicion. His ice-blue eyes narrowed and flashed gold as his tail pointed out. No one in the garden dared move. Harry just waited, sensing his mate was ill at ease with the presence of the wizards and magic between them. The human girl still had hold of his arm.

 

Then, suddenly, his mate barrelled forwards, hurtling towards them with such speed that his fur was pushed flat against his body, a mere blur. He hit the invisible barrier of magic between then, at the edge of the patio and was tumbled backwards. The air shuddered unnaturally. The silver wolf snarled, angry now, rolling back on to all fours and stalking the line, now and then making a break for a different part of the barrier. He had no success. His ears were up now, fur bristling and incisors on full display, shining ominously in the dimness.

 

“Let the barrier down,” the female pack-mate murmured, gripping Harry's other arm and holding him in place when the human girl tried to back away with him. “It’s only agitating him more.”

 

“Do you _see_ him?!” the red-headed human snapped, “he’ll tear Harry apart in this state and then us too!”

 

The male pack-mate morphed back into the white wolf again, edging forward with his body low to the ground, back partially arched. He was hoping his submission would calm the alpha enough to reassure the humans. It only irritated him more. The silver wolf snarled and lunged, nipping in annoyance at the white wolf’s scruff, snarling warningly against his muzzle. The white wolf whimpered and scuttled back – not behind the barrier, not daring, only back off to the side, not moving from his submissive pose.

 

“Let me take him out there!” The she-wolf, his female pack-mate barked. “If you fear he might hurt his mate in this frenzy (which is ridiculous) you can at least be assured I will not allow that!”

 

“I cannot let him touch Harry,” the other werewolf said through gritted teeth, “I’ve failed him once already. He still needs time to heal, to recover his own mind fully. I can’t let Greyback take him, force him, use _instincts_ as an excuse to take another choice from him – not ever again.”

 

The she-wolf gripped Harry's arm tighter. It hurt a little. Harry whined at the discomfort and frustration, going limp and still, trying to curl in on himself. His mate was angry and pacing, frantic. There was arguing around him. He needed to be small with his cub. He needed to get back to his den, no, to his mate. No…

 

Everything hurt, pulling him in two directions. He whined again and the effect on the silver wolf was instantaneous. He froze.

 

At that moment, the she-wolf lurched forwards, dragging Harry with her. The human girl tried to hold on too and was nearly taken with them from the force of the she-wolf’s pull but her red-headed human seized her, _just_ stopping her from toppling over the barrier with them. “No!” the human girl cried.

 

“Harry!” the skinny werewolf gasped and he too surged, but it was too late. Harry felt an uncomfortable tingle, like a vibrating wave pass over him as he staggered across the boundary. The she-wolf tugged him out of reach of the humans, putting a few feet between them before she stopped.

 

The silver wolf stared penetratingly at the she-wolf, stiff-legged and tall, tail unmoving and straight. The she-wolf released her hold on Harry at the sight, backing away, her throat bared, her still human-looking body low on the ground. The alpha waited, watching without movement until there was a perimeter of open space around Harry, then he moved, slowly, cautiously, his limbs fluid and ears pricked.

 

Harry too stepped forward, his mate’s cloak still tight around him, completely enveloping his scent and his cub’s no doubt, who was still silent and invisible to all. He tugged at the cloak a little, however, so that his throat was exposed as he walked. The pearlescent shape of his mating mark glowed subtly in the dying moonlight.

 

When they were but a few feet apart, the alpha paused again. Nobody else in the garden dared move, lest the slightest breath or twitch disturb the delicate peace. The silver tail was hanging slightly now, wagging in a telltale manner. His tongue flickered out in a slight pant. The smallest whine sounded. Harry yipped back and with that, they edged closer to each other, until the wolf’s great, powerful muzzle was a hairsbreadth from Harry's face.

The alpha’s hot breath mussed Harry's hair. Harry inched his head to the side to further expose his marked throat as the wolf inhaled. He whined softly, quietly. The wolf grumbled gently back, his wagging tail visible out of the corner of Harry's eye. Harry squirmed happily, wishing he had a tail to wag. The silver wolf rubbed his muzzle through Harry's hair, his mouth grazing Harry's cheek and leaving a slender trail of spittle in his wake.

 

Harry nuzzled back, grinding his face into that muzzle as it rubbed against his jaw, then his marked throat. Each of them reacquainted themselves with each other’s scent and greeted each other at the same time. Marked each other, lest the world forget to whom they belonged.

 

Harry felt the change subtly against his body. Smooth, silky fur morphed into short, prickly bristles of a human beard as his mate’s human mouth grazed his jawline. He whined gently, happily, his limbs warm and almost liquid as the safe, reassured feelings swelled within. His mate hadn’t abandoned him. He was safe now. Everything was alright.

 

Leaning closer, Harry passed his own lips against his mate’s jaw, standing up on his toes to nip his throat. Those big hands were on his shoulders, urging the cloak back off him impatiently. His mate wanted to see his body, to be assured he was alright. But as he took a step back to relieve himself of the cloak, a sharp breeze picked up behind him, whisking across his skin and dragging the scent of his cub into his mate’s nostrils.

 

The alpha froze, his hands tense on Harry's shoulders as he regarded him curiously. In the mayhem and with his cloak, so thick with his own scent wrapped around them, he hadn’t noticed the subtle, tiny new smell. As if sensing it was alright to be noticed now, the tiny body tied to Harry's squirmed, a little displeased cry ringing out in the night. The alpha grunted, confused. Harry smiled serenely, shrugging the cloak back so that it barely hung onto his shoulders, revealing the tiny pink body against his own.

 

Holding his mate’s gaze, Harry supported his cub against his chest as he shrugged off the sling, so he could better cradle him in the crook of his arm for the alpha to look on him. The cub cried at being revealed to the cold, his swaddling blanket doing little to protect him from the night air. The alpha growled gently, stepping closer, using his body as a windbreak and stared down into the unhappy pink face.

 

A large finger rose, tracing the shape of a chubby cheek. The cub quietened and stared up at him with a severe little expression. Harry crooned and leant his head forward, rubbing his cheek against his mate’s hairy chest. They needed to scent each other, all of them. They needed to be in his den, safe and warm. He hooked his free arm around his mate’s trying to tug him back toward the house. His den was there and the presence of the human’s didn’t worry him now. His mate was tall and strong against him, an impenetrable fortress against any potential threat.

 

“They need to be in Harry's den,” he vaguely heard the she-wolf say from somewhere behind him.

 

“I won’t invite him into this house,” the skinny werewolf (the one that smelt funny, _different_ ) said through gritted teeth.

 

Harry ignored them all, tugging his mate toward the house. The alpha huffed, his eyes trained on him and the cub in his arms as he allowed himself to be moved.

 

“You don’t have to invite him,” the human girl said quietly, as if a great realisation had just dawned on her. “Harry is inviting him in.” Her words were inadvertently punctuated by the ripple of magic as Harry pulled his mate through the wards. The humans and the odd-smelling werewolf stepped back a few steps out of instinct, but the alpha pair paid no heed. It was as if they didn’t exist. Their packmates were close behind, both humanoid and watching the humans carefully, as if daring them to interrupt the intimacy of the moment.

 

Harry only released his mate when they were inside. He shoved aside the curtain to his den and sat down in the nest he’d made. His mate lowered himself onto his haunches, watching him, eyes scanning the dark, generously-sized cupboard as Harry adjusted the pile of soft duvets and blankets that smelled nicely of him now. He changed his son’s nappy and shoved the soiled one out into the kitchen. The alpha frowned, shifting uneasily when it vanished. It wasn’t wizard magic, though, and his pack-mates were settling down behind him in the kitchen, on guard. He needed to be with his mate and cub now, that was the most important thing.

When Harry had laid his alpha’s fur down last on top of the pile, he settled into the nest and cradled his son against his chest. It was only then that the alpha slid into the space too, curling around him so that they were facing, wrapped close together. With the alpha’s body between him and the door, Harry's entire body relaxed and he sighed happily, resting his head on his mate’s arm as his cub began to suckle hungrily. He winced but the aching pain was becoming less each time.

 

The alpha was watching his cub, his large hand gently caressing the thick curls on his delicate head as he fed. Harry smiled subtly, eyes closing, head tucked under his mate’s chin and fell asleep before his son even finished eating. Safe. He was safe. It felt so right and warm. Everything would be alright now. He just knew it.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry awoke and his mind was still fuzzy with instincts. He blinked. His glasses had been taken off so the world was blurry, but it was dark in the den, so he knew the curtain had been drawn across the entrance. His mate’s scent and warmth were all around. A low, relaxed sigh left him. Squinting down. He saw that he was still lying on his side, his cub curled in the nest against his belly, but his mate was hovering over them both, his hair hanging over his face in a curtain as he bowed his head.

 

The alpha grazed Harry's cheek with his mouth, nuzzling gently, reassuring him that he could sleep, if he wanted. But Harry didn’t want to sleep through this. His alpha’s mouth marked his jaw and neck again, traced his collarbone and shoulders. Cool trails of thin, barely-there spittle lay wherever his mate touched, drying almost instantly on his skin but leaving a reassuring tingle behind. He was being claimed again, all over. It felt nice. Not sexual, not at all, just… _comforting_.

 

That mouth caressed his biceps, his forearms and the hollows of his palms where the bristles tickled. Harry squirmed and heard a huff of amusement from above. When that mouth marked his chest, he watched as the alpha frowned in confusion on trailing inadvertently through a few droplets of milk that had leaked. That tongue came out to lap it up gently and his mate seemed to consider the odd taste for a moment, before his mouth continued down.

 

After some time, Harry was tingling down to his toes and his mate nudged him over onto his belly. Harry obeyed, careful to not jostle his sleeping cub. The back of his neck, shoulders, his spine and rump were marked, all the way down the backs of his legs. It tickled and he wriggled but did not protest. He let his head rest in the nest of warm blankets and enjoyed it.

 

His mate nudged at his thighs then though, urging his backside into the air. Instincts in full control, Harry followed the cue and kept his upper body down while pushing his arse in the air. He didn’t jerk away, wasn’t surprised when that mouth lathed his tender, still sore entrance. His mate was healing him. Whining in discomfort, he shifted his legs apart so his mate’s tongue could delve a little deeper, soothing the ache inside until it was a barely-there throb. Only when his mate was satisfied with his healing, did he let Harry roll back over onto his back again.

 

They lay still in the dark quiet for some time and Harry leant in to the warmth of the alpha’s body, drifting off again.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Remus stared up at the dark red sky, the sun not yet visible along the horizon of rich shrubberies and rooftops. He hadn’t moved from the patio, even as everyone else moved inside, even when Tonks had tried to coax him back to bed. He hadn’t torn his gaze from the blood-red heavens. _Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,_ he remembered the old rhyme. _Red sky in the morning…_

 

The back door opened and Remus inhaled deeply. With his wolf smothered with the wolfsbane, his senses weren’t keen enough to decipher between scents easily – he only recognised Tonks, Teddy and Harry – though he _thought_ he recognised this one as…

 

“Hello, Hermione,” he said softly, turning his head to see that he was right. She smiled tiredly, holding out a heavy mug of tea for him. It felt almost too hot to his cold hands.

 

Hermione shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s cold. You should be inside.”

 

Remus said nothing, letting the warmth from the mug seep through his skin. After a long time, he sighed and sipped at the sweet, strong tea. “I let him down, Hermione,” he said quietly. “I was supposed to be the one person that thought of him in all this, the one that protected him and I failed.”

 

Hermione’s lips pursed as she watched him avoid her gaze. “I don’t think everything is what it seems with him and Mr Greyback,” she said tentatively. “That is… I don’t think it’s as black and white as all that. I think we need put a little faith in Harry. He’s never steered us wrong before. Except with Professor Snape, but–”

 

“Even if what Harry says is unbiased truth, if Greyback did rescue him and everything else,” Remus cut across her, tone desperate, “that still means he looked to Greyback as a source of comfort, as a kindness in the midst of all that _fear_ and that means his feelings for Greyback were born under pressure. They’re not real Hermione.”

 

“Aren’t most loves born from madness? You grew closer to Tonks because of working for the Order.” Hermione glanced back to the back door, looking thoughtful. “I think he loves Harry,” she said wistfully.

 

Remus felt sick at the thought. “That doesn’t make whatever he’s done right.”

 

Hermione flushed. “Of course not. But I don’t think he’d hurt him – I think he really cares about Harry and if so then…why _wouldn’t_ Harry care about him? Especially when no one has ever been solely devoted to him before? I suppose I can understand his feelings. I think perhaps by standing vigilant that it _must_ be Stockholm syndrome or something sinister we are only alienating Harry. We should try to understand him, not criticise his feelings. Then at least if it does all go wrong, we’ll be there for him.”

 

Remus opened his mouth to retort, but anything he was about to say was cut off as an almighty roar ripped through the icy quiet of the early morning and slammed into him. Hermione screamed and leapt back out of instinct as Remus was knocked to the ground. He scrambled back, narrowly avoiding Greyback’s meaty fist, which crashed into the patio where his leg had been a moment before.

 

“Alpha, no!” Hemming cried as he bolted from the back door, but Greyback paid no heed. He lunged for Remus again, human-face contorted in a snarl, teeth bared. Remus drew his wand.

 

 _“Immobulus!_ ” he cried but Greyback swatted the wood from his hand with a cry of rage.

 

“Fight me like a fucking wolf you snivelling coward!” he seethed, backhanding Remus hard, sending him sprawling across the muddy grass.

 

“No! Stop it!” Hermione cried, lurching forward but as she did so, Greyback whirled on his haunches to glare at her.

 

“You both fucking let them in,” he growled darkly, eyes flashing between blue and gold. “You bashed down my door and you let those bastards loose on my home, my pack – there were _children_ in there!”

 

Hermione stepped back, choking on her anguish, bumping into Hemming, who gripped both her arms tightly and held her to him. He levelled a gaze at his alpha.

 

“Your mate would want you to show mercy, Alpha,” he tried slowly.

 

Greyback sneered. “My mate didn’t see the carnage _their_ stupidity, their self-righteousness unleashed on our pack.” He turned back to Remus, who was reaching for his wand. “You hate your own kind so much that you’d see others dead for it?” Greyback snapped.

 

Remus stopped and stared at him. He grit his teeth, wincing wretchedly. “We didn’t realise that there was anyone else trying to get in,” he said. “We just wanted to get Harry out – if you’d let him contact us in the first place–”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Greyback began, surging forward and seizing Remus by his shirt, hauling him up to the tips of his toes. “Don’t you _dare_ blame my pack’s suffering on me. It was your doing, Lupin – you and that human girl. You’re responsible for the deaths of two of my pack mates! My _family._ Harry's family. Does that register in your self-pitying little mind?!” His voice echoed across the garden. The wards kept the sound restricted to this area, it wouldn’t even reach inside but it was deafening enough that Hermione flinched, her eyes shutting on instinct.

 

Remus glared down at Fenrir, shoving his wand right in Greyback’s face. “Even Fenrir Greyback cannot deflect a curse aimed right between the eyes,” Remus murmured darkly. “I should do it. It’d set Harry free – even if he hated me, he’d be free of you.”

 

A low, dangerous growl rumbled in Greyback’s throat. His clenched teeth mere inches from Remus’s face. “You got all the worst wizard traits in you self-righteous, uncompromising, traitorous – your way is always right and no one else’s, yeah? You’re gonna kill me, Lupin? To save Harry or because you couldn’t save yourself from me?”

 

Remus’ eyes widened. His stomach dropped.

 

“We didn’t mean to get anyone killed,” Hermione breathed quickly, looking frantically between Hemming, Greyback and Remus. “Please. We were just so afraid. We love Harry, that’s all and we were afraid you were hurting him. We were wrong – I was wrong. We made a mistake and it got people killed.” Hermione’s voice broke at the last word, tears rolling down her cheeks, her guilt welling up and out like water boiling over. “I’m so sorry…”

 

Hemming rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, like all men in his inability to stomach a woman crying. He too was angry, desolate but this was what happened when a war was being headed by teenagers. “Alpha,” Hemming said at last, voice low, cautious. “We can’t expect the humans to forgive us our sins if we cannot forgive theirs.”

 

Greyback sneered up at Lupin, thick fingers tightening in his shirt, shaking with the effort of holding back his fury. “This wretched prick hasn’t even got enough forgiveness in him for himself,” he grumbled. “I want to wipe the fucking floor with you, Lupin for what you’ve done to my pack – mistake or no, but that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? Another chance to blame me for your suffering? Well I’ve made my mistakes, boy but at least I’m man enough to own up to them – the bloody _girl_ over there is more man than you.”

 

Suddenly Greyback dropped him hard onto the ground, stepping back with every limb tensed in barely contained anger. “You’re bloody lucky Harry cares so much about you,” he muttered lowly, curling his fingers into tight fists at his sides.

 

“If you care so much for him, you’ll let him go,” Remus said, struggling to his feet, wand still drawn. “You know you should.”

 

Greyback bared his teeth again. “He chose me–”

 

“Then what have you got to lose?” Remus replied sharply. “He’ll come right back and prove me wrong then, won’t he?”

 

Greyback’s roar ripped through the air like talons through cloth, his body colliding hard with Remus’ again and this time pinning him to the damp grass. “ _Nothing_ I do will make me enough for Harry in your eyes because you hate me for your own bloody reasons. You don’t know how it works in the pack, boy, but let me enlighten you,” Greyback punctuated his words by gripping Remus’ throat tight, hearing, feeling, _smelling_ his blood pounding with rage and fear both.

 

“When you come between the alpha and his mate, his cub, it’s suicide,” Greyback continued darkly, voice raspy like gravel, spit flecking Remus’ face as he spoke. “You’re trying to apply human psychology to me and Harry but there’s wolf in it as well. What happened out there between him and me isn’t for you to judge. We’re not talking about that now, we’re talking about what _you_ did. What you unleashed on my pack.” He squeezed Remus’ throat tighter. “Show me your contrition the way your wolf wants you to, _omega_ ,” Greyback growled derisively, his tone hot with anger but biting, cruel, filled with every trace of bitterness from seeing his fallen and wounded pack-mates.

 

Remus winced. Submitting to Greyback was… It hurt. He grit his teeth, staring up into burning gold eyes. They’d been flickering back to blue as he’d spoke but now they were are vibrant as liquid galleons. The fingers around his throat squeezed so tightly that Remus swore he felt the cartilage there creak. He choked, clenching his eyes shut and struggled to find the right thing to do. He’d never been allowed much pride, being what he was, but what little he possessed now lay in tatters – that was Greyback’s punishment, his revenge for what had happened.

 

Slowly, his heart and lungs pounding in desperation, he tilted his head to the side and exposed his throat. Greyback growled out his victory and threw his head back, howling sharply before descending. Remus flinched, tensing for the bite, for the tearing of flesh – but it never came. When he opened his eyes, Fenrir was pushing off him with a grunt. Reducing him to subservience and fear to a man he blamed his unfortunate life on was worse punishment than death. _And he likely knows you’re too pathetic to survive any physical punishment he might exact on another werewolf,_ he thought wretchedly.

 

“Don’t come between us, Lupin or I’ll rip you a new one. I’ve learned not to forgive twice,” Greyback murmured, stalking toward the back door. The other three didn’t so much as breathe until he’d vanished back into the house.

*                      *                      *

 

When Harry awoke next, the curtain over the door was tinged with light creeping through some of the fibres. Not much, not enough to disturb the secluded dimness of the den, but just enough so that he knew it was daytime. Harry blinked, reaching out blindly for his glasses and pulling them on. Fenrir was still between him and the door, naked as the day he was born but he wasn’t looking at him, hadn’t realised Harry was awake yet, it seemed.

 

Their tiny son was completely naked, aside from his cloth nappy, staring up at Fenrir, his pale pink skin a stark contrast to Fenrir’s tanned, hairy body. Harry watched as the alpha wolf brushed his knuckles against the baby’s belly, that tiny face tugging up into an attempt at a smile. The baby boy cooed happily. Fenrir smiled. A wide, natural, handsome smile that made something in Harry's chest ache at the purity of it. He must’ve gasped, for Fenrir looked up at him then, his blue eyes warm.

 

“He’s perfect, Harry,” the man said, his voice husky and raw. “He looks just like you. Thank you.”

 

Harry's breathing took a moment to return to him. He thought he’d never hear that voice again. He’d been afraid all this time that the reason Fenrir had taken so long to come to him was because, for some reason, he couldn’t. He swallowed back the bile that swelled at the thought of losing him and all the complicated emotions and thoughts that came along with that. He wasn’t ready to think about things seriously, to consider rational thought and the world outside the intimacy of their den. He nodded, holding the man’s gaze for a moment, before looking down at their son.

 

“He’s small,” Harry said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

 

Fenrir chuckled. “I told you, all werewolf babies are,” he assured him. “He’s perfectly proportioned. By the time he’s a year old he’ll be the size of a human baby at that age. There’s nothing wrong with him, you…” He faltered, looking pained for a moment. “You did good. Fucking amazingly, considering.” The man reached out, his knuckles brushing along Harry's belly. It was flat again, but not as defined as before, still soft from the weight he’d been carrying for months. Harry didn’t want to look at it.

 

“I should’ve been there,” was all the alpha could say.

 

Harry shook his head. There was no sense in going over that. “I all but forced you to go,” he said quietly. “I didn’t give you much choice. And anyway, no one could’ve predicted what was about to happen.” Fenrir didn’t seem at all appeased by this. Harry kept his gaze focussed on his son, trying to sieve through all the things racing through his mind, all the words that needed to be said. Everything he’d promised he’d say to Fenrir if they saw each other again. He just didn’t know where to begin.

 

“Ulric saved us both,” he said at last. “I was knocked down. I thought I’d…I’d lost him,” he gestured to their son, jaw tensing with pain as he remembered the agony of that moment, thinking it had all been for nothing. “Weylyn, he was on me, I was bleeding but Ulric he…he got in the way. He died saving us both.” Only when he had finished speaking did he lift his gaze to Fenrir’s. Those blue eyes were cloudy with thought but no emotion showed on his face. He said nothing, even as his face darkened.

 

Harry chewed the inside of his mouth. “They didn’t mean for it to happen,” he blurted out urgently. “Remus, Hermione and Ron, I mean. They thought I was in trouble. They thought you were holding me hostage or _worse._ They didn’t know that by lowering the wards to get to me they were letting Conall and the others in. Fenrir, they were only trying to help me.” His voice was quite desperate toward the end, but when he finished, though Fenrir’s face had darkened, he said nothing for a long time.

 

The alpha rolled onto his back, pulling their baby son onto his chest and staring down, watching the baby’s face as his piercing green eyes moved between the two of them, obviously learning them both. “When I realised something was wrong I apparated away. But because of the protective charms on the valley, you can’t apparate there directly. I had to apparate to Shae and run the entire way…”

 

Harry sat up, looking down at Fenrir and their son. Stowed away in here away from the world, it was a shock to remember what had really happened out there, what was _still_ happening.

 

“By the time I got there, everything was covered in blood,” Fenrir breathed quietly. “The rogues’ corpses were sprawled across the grass like slaughtered sheep. I saw Ulric’s… _body_ , Rafe was dead too – you didn’t know him that well. Plenty wounded…”

 

“Echo and Draco?” Harry interrupted, unable to stand it any longer. Weaving in and out of ‘conscious’ thought had addled his mind, but he still couldn’t believe he had forgotten them, instincts or no! He winced, mentally berating himself. His instinct-high must’ve affected him more deeply than he thought, suppressing memories and feelings that would’ve endangered him and his cub before, when they were alone. Now Fenrir was beside him, it seemed things were rushing back to him in thick, disorientating waves. He didn’t know what he thought about that.

“Echo was wounded badly,” Fenrir said, not looking at Harry. “The Malfoy boy was still unconscious when I left, but Amoux was tending him. He was stable at least. She and Accalia did a good job protecting the kids. They’re all fine.”

 

Harry swallowed, his hands curling into tight fists on his knees. He didn’t realise they were trembling with tension until one of Fenrir’s hands landed on top of one of them, stilling him. He could not look up though, not when it had been his fault that two of their pack-mates had died; more names to the endless list of tragedies in this war. Fenrir, who had already lost so much had almost lost his pack and everything he had worked to preserve, all because they had stood between Harry and Conall. It was no different to the people like Moody and the others, dying because they stood between him and Voldemort.

 

Gritting his teeth, Harry felt bile rise again in his throat like a searing tide of acid. Who would die next because of him? Who would suffer?

 

Movement jerked him from his bitter thoughts but before he could register them, Fenrir had gripped his chin so firmly it was only just _not_ painful, forcing him to meet his gaze. He was sitting up too now, their son – his and Fenrir Greyback’s son looking so small in the crook of his arm, yawning widely, not a care in the world. Untouched by all the trauma he’d unknowingly suffered. Pure and untainted by things like death, Conall and Voldemort.

 

“You don’t smell right when you’re upset,” the alpha wolf said, his voice low and rough.

 

Harry snorted, trying for amused and indifferent but his words sounded hollow when he spoke. “Sorry, I did have a sponge bath.” That thumb and forefinger gripped his chin harder. He stared up into those eyes again.

 

“You didn’t ask for any of this,” Fenrir growled.

 

Harry sighed. “No, but I could’ve prevented some of it. Could’ve stopped it from getting worse–”

 

“How? How could you?” Fenrir demanded gruffly. “I confined you to that valley, I stopped you from heading out there on your bloody quest against _Tergarletum_ so if anyone dies at his hand, I am to blame. Blame me.”

 

“How can I blame you for wanting to protect me?” Harry demanded, frustrated, angry, hurting from the inside out. “If you’d let me out I might’ve been killed, our son might’ve been killed.” He gestured to the baby in his grasp. “You were doing what you thought was right–”

 

“As were you!” Fenrir snapped.

 

Harry laughed without humour. “I was fucking scared. I know that now. I was too comfortable, too content to stay hidden away from my problems. I used our son as an excuse to shirk my duties.”

 

Fenrir sneered. “Listen to you. You sound like bloody Lupin. Your _‘duties’_. And if our son had been killed because you rushed out like a pillock? What then? Your instincts made you feel unable or unwilling to contact the outside world for a reason. You were protecting him!”

 

Harry wanted to drop his gaze, but Fenrir had his chin in a bruising grip now. He had no answer to that argument, so he simply said, “And the valley? How can I blame what happened there on you? Remus and Hermione came there because of my stupidity, my thoughtlessness. I should’ve known they’d think something was wrong if they didn’t see me for months. I should’ve asked you to bring them to me sooner! If I had just thought about something besides myself for once they’d never have dropped the wards and Conall would never have got in!”

 

Their son was fussing now, upset by their harsh tones. Fenrir stared down at him, as if unsure of what to do. After a moment, he hauled the tot over his shoulder, patting his back firmly. Harry winced.

 

“Careful, he’s only small,” he began. Fenrir looked so big compared to the tiny boy.

 

“I’ve held a cub before,” Fenrir retorted gruffly, annoyed. “He’s tougher than he looks. He won’t break.” Sure enough, after a moment or two, the baby gave a long, deep belch. It sounded like he needed it and immediately calmed again. Feeling like a stupid chastised child, Harry swatted Fenrir’s hand away from him and shuffled back to lean against the far side of the cupboard, knees up to his chest. He focused on the curtain, on the individual fibres he could see thanks to the sun against the opposite side.

 

A deafening, awkward quiet fell. They hadn’t suffered a silence this uncomfortable in so long that it made Harry uneasy to endure. He hadn’t felt this estranged or distanced from Fenrir, from everyone for so long…

 

Fenrir audibly sniffed at the air. “I’ve upset you.”

 

Harry grit his teeth, grinding them together. “I’m not upset,” he said quickly, “I’m fucking pissed off.” He forced himself to look at Fenrir. “You’ve never treated me like a stupid child that doesn’t know his arse from his elbow before. Now you are. I don’t like it.” He watched as Fenrir rubbed their son’s back a few more times, coaxing out another little burp. The tiny body relaxed and Fenrir laid him down in the little nest of duvets, tucking his blanket back round him.

 

Harry reached for him.

 

“You should let him be once and a while,” Fenrir said, “you’ll make him fuss when you _do_ need to put him down-”

 

“Don’t tell me when I can and can’t hold him,” Harry said dangerously, pulling his son to his chest. He curled up, back against the wall, the baby resting against his drawn up legs with Harry's arms around him for support. He yawned widely, unaffected it seemed by tension now he was more comfortable. His big green eyes blinked up at Harry sleepily.

 

“You can’t anticipate what humans might take it in their head to do,” Fenrir said after some time, gruff and harsh as ever. “You can’t be blamed. If you start doing that you might as well blame me for not killing Conall and the others when they first made a nuisance of themselves.” He stared at Harry. “Do you blame me?”

 

Harry wanted to bark that yes, he did. He felt bitter and annoyed by Fenrir’s cavalier ‘correction’ of Harry's parenting. But he was not that cruel and he didn’t blame him in all honesty, not really. Could Fenrir not understand why everything that had happened was his, Harry’s fault? He sighed heavily. “I don’t blame you,” he muttered at last.

 

Fenrir grunted. “Well then let me tell you, the whole world isn’t dependant on your everyday decisions. Men and women, werewolves, dark wizards, they make their choices and yeah, some things we do may aggravate things but we don’t _make_ them do anything. The pack chose to stand between you and Conall. I chose to stand between you and _Tergarletum_. _He_ chose to kill your parents when you were barely a year old. If you want to blame anyone, blame him. Get pissy with him and get even.”

 

Harry lifted his gaze slowly. Fenrir wasn’t the type to coddle or sugar-coat things. He cared about Harry's well-being, he knew that, but in spite of that, he told it as it was. To hear _him_ , blunt, crude and straight-forward Fenrir Greyback, say things like _this,_ it made them easier to believe. He was saying it because he thought it was right, not because he thought it would make Harry feel better. That knowledge dulled his anger a fraction.

 

The baby boy in his arms fidgeted, beginning to whimper around his dummy.

 

“He’s hungry,” Fenrir said.

 

Harry scowled at him; irritated that the git seemed to be able to sense what his son wanted when _he_ was the one that had carried him for months. _Shouldn’t I be the one that just instinctively knows what to do?_ He growled inwardly.

 

“He’s greedy,” Harry muttered.

 

“Just like his alpha,” Fenrir said with a smirk.

 

Harry did not smile back. “Does that make me ‘Dad’ then?”

 

With a chuckle, Fenrir merely said dismissively, “He can call you whatever you want, it’s just a name, it won’t change what or who you are, pet.”

 

Not meeting Fenrir’s eyes, Harry pulled the boy to his chest. He shuffled so his knees would protect some of his modesty and reached for the fur cloak to cover himself. Fenrir’s hand landed flat on it, stopping him from taking it.

 

“I want to see,” the wolf said, predatorily but not sexually so. He too was on an instinct-high, dominant and demanding.

 

“Good for you,” Harry snapped, surrendering the cloak and instead pulling the baby’s blanket up across his chest so he could still deny Fenrir the view.

 

Harry understood what Fenrir was feeling, for he felt his own instincts prickling at the back of his mind – he just wouldn’t surrender to it. Not when Fenrir was being such an arse. He was the submissive partner by nature and he even (secretly) enjoyed being submissive in Fenrir’s bed, able to relax and let go, let someone else take care of him. But he was not a submissive anywhere else. He never would be, he understood that now and it imbued him with confidence. He and Fenrir, they were equals.

 

Plucking the dummy out of his son’s mouth, Harry guided him to his chest. He winced at the initial tugging pull but then rested his head against the wall, eyes closed. It was embarrassing, emasculating – but his instincts crowed proudly whenever it happened and he felt an odd…connection too, the latter making it slightly (if only slightly) relaxing. Fenrir, Remus and everyone else might doubt his abilities as a parent, but this was the one thing he could do that none of them could. His inner wolf was smug at that. It was still embarrassing though.

 

When he felt Fenrir move, his eyes snapped open and on impulse, he growled with bared teeth as he saw the alpha shifting closer. Fenrir growled back, but it was a half-hearted, grumpy sound, as if he knew this was a place where he could not challenge his mate.

 

“I don’t like it when you hide yourself from me,” Fenrir grunted.

 

“And I don’t like it when you, the biggest oaf I’ve ever met tries to tell me how to take care of my son who I had to bring into this world all by myself!” Harry snapped. Any satisfaction he may have felt upon being right, however, dissipated when he saw the hurt flicker behind Fenrir’s eyes. Fenrir had wanted to be there, had wanted to protect them from that and blamed himself that he had not. _He’s hurting too,_ his mind supplied; _he has just lost people as well. He saw their bodies like you did. He’s just dealing with it in his own way._

 

“He eats a lot,” Harry said quietly, trying to chase away the awkward silence. The boy was sucking as voraciously as ever, little fingers curling against Harry's chest. He was warm and soft. Harry smiled when he heard a small hiccup. When Fenrir shifted closer this time, though Harry watched him, he did not stop him. The man even drew the fur up around him like a blanket, like some sort of peace offering as he leant back against the wall too and looked down. It took everything in Harry to let him look and not cringe away – for many reasons, but he managed. Just.

 

“That’s good,” Fenrir said distantly, brushing a huge knuckle against Little Bludger’s forehead. “He has red in his hair.”

 

“From my mum,” Harry murmured, thinking of his mother and father both, wondering just what they would’ve said if they were here now. They wouldn’t be happy, Harry knew that, but they would support him, he was sure of it. He wrapped his arms tighter round his son. The baby gurgled, but did not stop drinking. “He…he has my eyes too,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. But when he looked up, Fenrir didn’t look displeased.

 

“I saw.” Fenrir Greyback, man of few words stared into Harry's eyes then, a part of him distant and far away, the part that was suffering and lost. Harry could see everything in that cloud of ice-blue. Fear, pain, loss, but also happiness and relief – and guilt to be feeling that happiness. Harry thought he understood where that was coming from. They had lost so much but how could they not be happy with their son? Right now, in their warm den, he was the centre of their world. Everything else just fell away like debris from a launched rocket.

 

Blinking up at Fenrir pensively for a moment, Harry drank in the emotions there that he swore only he would ever see, read the words that would never be said. Fenrir was not the type of man to say them, but at moments like these, he didn’t need to. Harry craned his head and slid his lips over Fenrir’s. That mouth was firm and a little bristly, warm and tense under his for a moment with surprise, before it pressed back. It was a small, deep but sexless kiss, one of raw emotion and feeling. Right now, they understood each other just fine.

 

The taste was only of spit and warmth, nothing to intrude and as ever, Harry's tongue slid in first, caressing the length of Fenrir’s, flickering against the underside. Everything was slow, languid. Like a pleasurable morning stretch. An odd sound shuddered from Harry's mouth into the kiss and Fenrir grumbled back, content, Harry thought. When their lips parted, Harry's lashes fluttered, his eyes roving Fenrir’s mouth, then his face, before lifting to focus on his eyes again at last.

 

With his cheeks burning, Harry gathered Fenrir’s taste off his lips with a flicker of his tongue. “What took you so long to come back?” he asked, voice low and husky.

 

Fenrir held his gaze a moment, before smiling ruefully. A large hand came up to cup the back of Harry's neck, thumb caressing his marked throat in his way of affection. “Missed me, did you, pet?” he chuckled. But then his face was suddenly serious, his thumb stroking thoughtfully as he said, “did you think I’d abandoned you?”

 

Harry said nothing, just waited for a proper answer. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking since the moment he’d collapsed on the bed in their den and…his face twisted with discomfiture… _gave birth!_ Urgh, he really didn’t like that word. But his thoughts had all been a swirl of confusion, smothered and simplified by instincts. He didn’t know how to answer Fenrir’s question.

 

Luckily, Fenrir didn’t seem to expect one.

 

“You have no idea what it was like,” Fenrir said gruffly. “Walking in after seeing the valley littered with blood and corpses, only to find that Malfoy boy sprawled across the floor, Conall’s corpse mutilated next to our bed…” He grit his teeth. “Our bed, covered in your blood and…”

 

Harry winced, trying hard to imagine the state their den must’ve been in.

 

“Echo calls it a blood rage, what I went into,” Fenrir continued. “I transformed at the sight and smell of your blood, at the thought of you missing and ripped what was left of Conall to shreds until the bits of him that _were_ left didn’t even look like flesh any longer.” The alpha’s eyes glowed dangerously at the memory of the carnage and for a second, Harry saw the ‘monster’ everyone thought was Fenrir Greyback in those eyes. It was gone as soon as it came, however, overcome by the man he’d come to know over the last few months.

 

“I calmed down a bit once I’d torn him up, fucking pig,” Fenrir sneered. “Enough to focus, for a bit at least.” He winced then. “I knew they had you, your Lupin and the humans. But I didn’t know what they’d do to you with you in your feral state. I should’ve stayed; I should’ve helped my pack but I… I couldn’t even think. I couldn’t…” He grit his teeth. “I needed to get to you. I knew you’d whelped and I needed…”

 

 _Needed to be with you,_ Harry thought he was about to say, but just couldn’t.

 

Harry saw guilt again there before Fenrir shielded it from him – visibly at least. The bond between them meant that nothing could ever be completely hidden after all. He could taste Fenrir’s self-reproach on the air like bitter ash on his tongue. Fenrir felt like he had failed his pack somehow, by choosing Harry over them.

 

“I’m no expert on werewolf behaviour,” Harry muttered, “But even I know when cubs are born the whole pack goes mental. You were as lost to it as I was, there was no way you could’ve been expected to act responsibly, or even _think_ clearly enough to try and fight the instinct to find us.” He moistened his suddenly dry lips again, steeling himself to say what Fenrir needed to hear, Harry's own pride be damned. “And we did need you, both of us.”

 

He wanted to say more, to try and convey the abandonment and loneliness, the confusion he had felt. The bone-deep aching pain he’d suffered. But he couldn’t. There weren’t even words for that feeling and if there were, he didn’t know them.

 

The hand against his nape tightened in a comforting way. He closed his eyes and just relished the warm roughness of that skin against his.

 

“Echo had it all under control,” Fenrir continued. “But I left them to go find your humans and then when I realised you were truly gone, that I was too late, I left them _again_. If any of them wish to challenge my position, they are all well within their right…”

 

Harry flinched. “Overthrow you, you mean, as alpha?” That thought made his stomach churn. Fenrir had already lost so much, if he lost his pack because he’d come after him, Harry didn’t know if he could bear it. “When we were in school, the textbooks tried to tell us that a werewolf pack was like a wolf pack,” he began, remembering Snape’s drawling voice and gloating pleasure as he’d taught the subject while Remus had been absent. A prickle of loathing at the thought of Snape tugged at his thoughts, but he brushed them away, for now, remembering the truth of the man belatedly.

 

“There are similarities, of course, but it’s not entirely the same,” he pressed on. “You were absent before, when you went after the hunters and again when you went to Azkaban and they were _still_ waiting for you to return. You’re always telling me that it’s like a family, that they all treasure me. But they treasure _you_ too! They adore you! They respect you. How could you think they’d turn their backs on you now?” His voice had an edge of desperation and was a fraction too high towards the end but Fenrir made no comment on it. The alpha regarded Harry warmly, appreciatively.

 

 Harry continued, “They know what it feels like to be taken over by their instincts just as much as you do. They'll understand.” His own belief in his words startled him. After all these months he had faith in the people in that valley, just as much as he had in Ron, Hermione and Remus. They were family. He had watched them bleed for him, just as readily as his friends. He swallowed hard around the lump that rose in his throat at the thought.

 

 “You're a good Alpha Mate, you know,” Fenrir rumbled pensively, “another reason I was right to pick you.”

 

 Harry snorted. “I picked you as well, remember,” he said, a little defensively.

 

 Fenrir smirked, his eyes warm in the dimness, like the ocean in summer, somewhere far away from England that Harry could only imagine. “Yes, I remember.” Leaning his head back against the wall, he watched both Harry and their son in thoughtful silence, his arms folded slightly and resting on his drawn up knees. He looked huge, too huge in the close quarters of the cupboard. Powerful and muscular, dangerous and yet here he was, sidled up against Harry and looking at him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Harry flushed darkly at the sight, still unaccustomed to it and unsure how to return such blatant devotion.

 

 Fenrir, for many reasons, was a man of few words and Harry, by the same token, just didn't know how to articulate the whirlwind of emotions rushing through him. He never had been able to. _Still just eighteen,_ his mind supplied distantly, _despite everything that's happened, you're still just eighteen._

 

 He peeked up at Fenrir out of the corner of his eye, wondering if either of them would live long enough to decipher just what was going on between them. He doubted there were enough years in the whole fabric of time, in all honesty. Then he remembered what his friends had asked him, regarding what he would have done, had he not been tied to Fenrir, emotionally and physically. And that begged the question, what would happen to them after all this was over?

 

 A soft contented gurgle ushered up from the sleepy little body in his arms, distracting Harry from his thoughts. He used the corner of the swaddling cloth to wipe the boy's mouth, then quickly mopped up the line of fluid leaking down his chest that had been spilled, hoping Fenrir didn't see.

 

 “You don't have to be ashamed, you know,” the wolf grunted. Clearly he _had_ seen. “I watched my mother do it for my brothers and sister. You're still a man, just like he was.”

 

 “Then why do you say 'mother' when you talk about him?” Harry muttered. “I thought you called him Dad?”

 

 Fenrir frowned. “I did. I only mention him as my mother so it's easier for you to understand which parent I'm talking about. You weren't brought up like me after all; you were raised to think that parents could only be a man and a woman. You're only uncertain because you were raised by bigoted muggles. My _Dad_ had no issues with his masculinity, just because he was the sub with all the trimmings."

 

 Harry ignored him, it was on the tip of his tongue to say that normal men didn't lactate, but then what was normal for him was different for Fenrir. It was all just odd, he thought and he didn't think anyone would be able to convince him otherwise. He didn't feel submissive, he didn't feel subservient or weak, on the contrary, he had never felt so strong thanks to that display of magic in the valley. But when it came down to doing _this,_ he couldn't help but feel awkward. It helped that his chest still looked the same though, granted. Maybe if he didn't have to worry about what Hermione, Ron, Remus and Tonks might be thinking, maybe if he didn't have his aunt and uncle's voices swimming through his mind hissing _freak_ …

 

 “He needs a name,” Harry said quickly as he rolled the baby over so that he lay with his belly against Harry's still drawn-up knees. Harry rubbed his back. He thought he heard Fenrir mutter _“harder”_ and paused, momentarily annoyed, before he acquiesced, rubbing in firmer, steady motions. When he glanced up, Fenrir looked…stunned, but pleased at the same time.

 “You didn't name him?” he asked, in the usual gruff tone that was belied by the light in his eyes. Harry smirked. It was unlike Fenrir to look so full of yearning, when it wasn't sexual anyway. There was something to what his pack-mates had said, about it being tradition that the alpha named the children. Fenrir had no doubt thought Harry would have dismissed their traditions. Harry smiled fondly at the thought, wondering if Fenrir had had a name planned all this time but had been too proud to say so.

 

 “I have it on good authority that that's your job,” he mused. The baby boy gave a deep burp, spitting up as he did so on Harry's bare knees. Harry winced, seizing one of the cloth nappies piled in the corner (courtesy of Kreacher) to wipe away the undigested milk. “Besides,” Harry murmured, almost under his breath, “I want you to.”

 

The child started to fuss and Harry turned him back over, popping the dummy in and shuffling forward to lie down in the nest of blankets with him. After a moment, Fenrir lay down beside them both on his side, head propped up on his hand as he looked down at the baby curled up between them.

 

 “The pack usually visit the cubs and give them their blessings and gifts when they are given names,” Fenrir explained.

 

 Harry wondered if Fenrir was hinting that they should return to the valley first, but his instincts prickled at the thought of leaving the den. He couldn't think outside of his cupboard at the moment. 

 

 “Kirian,” Fenrir suggested. The said boy sucked on his dummy, staring up at him, apparently enthralled by his deep, gravelly voice. Harry thought he understood the feeling. He cocked his head and mulled the name over in his mind for a moment.

 

“Kirian,” Harry repeated thoughtfully. The baby’s eyes flicked to him at the sound of his voice, he seemed to want to turn his head to him, but didn’t have quite the control or strength yet. He scowled when he couldn’t look at Harry properly. Harry smirked, reaching across and turning that little head to him. The baby wriggled, apparently pleased. He whimpered contently through his dummy.

 

“It means ‘one born in a dark place’ or something like that,” Fenrir muttered.

 

Harry snorted. “Physically and metaphorically,” he muttered, aiding his son in turning back to look at Fenrir. It did suit him, the meaning and the sound. He seemed to be following their voices, learning them, his little nose twitching as he took in their scents.

 

“Kirian Potter Greyback?” he said.

 

“Mmm,” Greyback growled softly, “I do like your name against mine.” He chuckled, probably secretly pleased that Harry wasn’t afraid or ashamed to include him in their son’s name.

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but put up little protest when the wolf leant over, smoothing a stubbly kiss across his lips. He hummed, his tongue sliding out to meet Fenrir’s in a slow, appreciative caress. When the gentle kiss broke, Harry ducked his head, sighing softly, safe, warm and tired. “I missed you,” he muttered, too dazed to feel embarrassed. He slid further down into the duvets and curled around Kirian.

 

“You too, pet,” Fenrir answered gruffly, pulling the fur cloak around his family and laying down himself. Harry squirmed in a good way when he felt a mouth nuzzle at his hair. Everything was uncomplicated again inside his head. Fuzzy around the edges like a dream. His body was light, healing and sleepy. How long would it be before his responsibilities and the real world intruded again?

 

“Mmm, nice,” he muttered, half-asleep already, his forehead against Fenrir’s chest, Kirian safe and warm between their two bodies. “…being tak’n care of,” he added. He heard Fenrir’s warm, gravelly voice, but could not make sense of the words he uttered before he tumbled in to sleep again.

 

 

_~To Be Continued…_

 

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A/N: Kirian - one who is born in a dark place - Kih (as in kittens) Ree (as in reed) Un (as you say the end of 'London'). I struggled for a name for the cub as I didn't want something overly elaborate and unrealistic. I loved this name as soon as I found it. Hope you guys do too :)

 

Until next week~

 

Love

Shigure-san

x chuu x


	20. Battles of Wolves

Thank you again to everyone who is still enjoying the story. Your support means so much to me. This chapter is actually longer than some of the others but it seemed to go so quick when I was reading it through - hope you like it! ^_^

 

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.: Chapter Twenty :.

Battles of Wolves

 

 

 A low, rumbling growl of warning tugged him out of slumber. Lulled into security by Fenrir’s scent and proximity, his instincts told him not to be too concerned. He rolled tighter into Fenrir’s body, his arms around his still sleeping son. When he felt silver fur against his skin instead of warm flesh, he cracked open his eyes.

 

The warning growl had ceased, but Fenrir’s head was still up, one huge paw partially curled around his mate and cub where they lay against him. He was almost too big for the cupboard; luckily it seemed just the right size for his wolf form to lie in. At the back of his mind, Harry wondered vaguely if Kreacher had expanded it for him or if it had always been this size.

 

Movement from the door to the den told him what Fenrir had been growling at. The curtain was drawn back to reveal Lupa and Hemming. Neither of them entered, they merely sat on the threshold, waiting, heads down, necks exposed. The silver wolf practically wrapped around Harry shifted, but grumbled, lowering his muzzle as if giving permission. Slowly, their pack-mates approached, edging forward, almost on their bellies.

 

Soft, yipping mewls sounded from human looking lips as they came to sit just in front of Harry and Fenrir. What followed next was a strange sensation. It wasn’t like being overcome with his instincts entirely, as with the birth or the moon. Harry distinctly felt his wolf rear up to the surface and yet he was fully aware, fully in control, only relaxed and comfortable with the world as he only was when the instincts took over. This, this was only what he could describe as peace within himself, between two warring parts of him. He was completely lucid, if still a little fuzzy from sleep.

 

Lupa whined, laying a small shining platinum-hued implement on the bed of furs beside Harry. It was a gift, an offering to honour the alpha’s cub; Harry knew this on instinct, despite his ‘human’ mind still being in control. Somehow he just knew this was right, a tradition and sign of great respect and family unity within the pack. If they were with the rest of the pack, they would be doing the same, he thought.

 

Picking up the object, he saw that it was an overlarge, thick ring that could easily be worn as a too-thick rounded bangle round his wrist. It was platinum in colour but he knew not the material, for it was incredibly light and glistened beautifully even in the dim light. Three thick, also rounded charms hung from it, chiming together nicely when he moved it. They seemed to be in the shape of the moon in full, but he wasn’t sure.

 

Holding it above Kirian (who had awoken and was blinking up in interest now), he jingled it slightly and watched that stern little face open in bright-eyed amusement. Harry smiled and jingled it again. It was a rattle and also a teething ring, he realised. He remembered far back to one of the portraits in Hogwarts of a Victorian witch and her baby, who had clutched a far less glamorous, far less magical version of the same thing. He smirked as he thought of his boy chewing and drooling around this the way the portrait baby had. Right now Kirian didn’t seem to be able to do much more than stare up in interest at the glowing ring and its charms.

 

Evidently pleased that her gift was a success, Lupa leant forward, butting her face against Fenrir’s muzzle. Fenrir permitted it, pushing back gently and even letting her brush her cheek affectionately against Harry's face. She retreated back out of the den as Hemming edged forwards, low to the ground as she had been. He laid a small pile of the softest looking cloth Harry had ever seen on the furs beside them, and then waited.

 

Harry picked the material up, only to realise it was in fact a neatly folded crisp-white baby’s romper suit. Plain white but softer than anything he’d felt before. Made with acromantula silk thread like a lot of the pack’s clothes, he thought, which made it impervious to dirt and smells. There was a small matching hat and he smiled, only just realising that his poor son had only had blankets and furs to cover him since he was born, not a scrap of clothing to his name.

 

Whining softly, happily, Harry immediately unwrapped Kirian from his blanket and (after changing his nappy, just to be sure) slowly dressed him. It was a slow process – he’d never dressed a baby before after all and those little limbs were so delicate. The all-in-one buttoned up easily enough though and after the hat was on his little dark-haired head he re-wrapped him in the blanket rich in Fenrir’s scent. He looked much more snug now, more like a baby and less like a little wriggly pink creature.

 

Hemming did the same as Lupa on having his gift accepted, brushing against his alpha, then Harry before edging back out of the den. The curtain fell back into place after him, leaving Harry, Fenrir and Kirian alone in the dimness. They laid in the same position for some time, relishing in the companionable silence. One of the good things about being with a man like Fenrir was that his silence spoke louder than a thousand words. At times like this, nothing needed to be said.

 

Harry might have dozed for a little while, but he was jerked roughly back to the present by a discontented cry. He blinked awake, disorientated to find a human looking Fenrir pulling Kirian up into his arms. Harry stared at them. The baby’s lungs still sounded feeble but he smelled healthy enough. Fenrir seemed to think him more than resilient enough as he bounced him roughly against his chest.

 

“Your a whingey little blighter,” Fenrir muttered good-naturedly, “My youngest brother used to be like you – right little baby.”

 

“He _is_ a baby,” Harry scowled, sitting upright and reaching for his son. It didn’t go unnoticed that Fenrir had mentioned his family though, that was encouraging. He rarely mentioned them before, the pain as crisp in his mind and heart as if it had only happened the day before. Perhaps Kirian’s presence helped him to think of them in fondness rather than pain.

 

“You don’t like me holding him, do you?” Fenrir muttered, watching as Harry pulled the baby to his chest.

 

“I like it fine, though I wish you’d be gentler,” Harry muttered. He did feel the need to be the one holding his son all the time but that wasn’t because he didn’t want Fenrir to hold him. On the contrary, the sight of Fenrir Greyback so enamoured with something so small and cute was…endearing. Harry just felt unsettled, like no one knew how to protect this tiny, precious little life better than him – even if he wasn’t sure how to do it himself.

 

Parenthood was one big paradox.

 

Kirian had whimpered in displeasure when Harry had tugged him out of Fenrir’s grasp but his cries died as he locked his mouth around a swollen nipple and guzzled greedily. He choked, spluttered and began to cry again, a little milk leaking from his lips. Harry flapped, pulling the boy quickly up, mopping his mouth and rubbing his back firmly. He felt Fenrir’s eyes on him and grit his teeth, rubbing more firmly before the man could say anything.

 

When he brought Kirian back, the same thing happened.

 

Fenrir’s large, warm hands stilled him when he panicked again. Harry's head snapped up on instinct and he found himself staring into glistening blue eyes.

 

“Stop getting in a flap. It’s coming out a bit too quick for him is all,” he muttered, reaching forward and massaging Harry's flat chest. Harry flushed and hissed simultaneously, struggling backward as a sharp burst of white fluid leaked in Fenrir’s hand.

“Get off!” Harry snapped, angry and embarrassed. He kicked away but Fenrir’s dry hand gripped his shoulder, holding him steady.

 

“It releases some of the pressure, I saw my dad do it,” Fenrir snorted, ignoring his beet-red flush of humiliation.

 

“You might have told me instead of presuming to…” Harry grit his teeth. “To milk me like a fucking cow! This is weird for me! I never thought I would do something like this, until a few months ago I thought it was something only a woman could do. It’s emasculating enough as it is doing it with you _watching,_ much less touching!” He hissed in annoyance as Kirian began to cry in earnest, both hungry and upset at the tension in the air.

 

Harry pulled him close to his chest, holding him in the crook of his arm and wiping away the milk that had splattered him. The ingenious fabric of his romper suit had merely reflected it, of course but his little cheeks were damp. Breathing deep and slow to try and temper his annoyance, Harry waited until he felt calmer before he spoke again. “How do you know so much about babies anyway? You never said you were such an expert before now,” he murmured, cheeks still burning with humiliation.

 

“I was old enough to remember my dad having my siblings. There was an age gap. I helped a lot with them, especially the youngest. He was a needy little thing,” Fenrir said, an edge of fondness to his gruff voice. Harry's anger abated almost completely at the sound of it.

 

“You loved your youngest brother,” Harry said. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t mean it in the way that Fenrir didn’t love all his family either but in the sense that Fenrir had doted on the youngest. Fenrir knew what he meant too, Harry could tell by the look in his eyes. “You love our son like that. I’m glad, I wasn’t sure you’d be so… _warm_ with him…”

 

Fenrir huffed. “Of course I love him.”

 

_And me?_ It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to ask that but he caught himself just in time. It was the stupid hormones and the trauma making him think such stupid things. Besides, what if Fenrir echoed the same question? Harry had no idea how he would answer it. _No,_ he thought, _best leave that question buried._

“If you squeeze out the excess it might not hit him in the back of the throat,” Fenrir said then in his usual tone, as if intimate words of love had never been spoken. Or, more accurately, as if they weren’t anything out of the ordinary. Fenrir was a troubled man with as many issues and internal scars as Harry but he wouldn’t deny Kirian the love he deserved. It was reassuring to see.

 

“Don’t look then,” Harry griped.

 

Fenrir clucked his tongue in annoyance but glanced away while Harry tentatively brought his hand up and rubbed the way Fenrir had. Fluid burst out sharply, then slowed. His chest ached as his fingers kneaded the flesh. It was so bizarre, especially given that his chest looked normal still. Wiping his hand off on the duvets, he pulled Kirian back into the crook of his arm.

 

“Lean back, try having him upright against you, it’ll help,” Fenrir said.

 

Harry glared. Fenrir was watching closely again. “Maybe you should give it ago if you’re the expert,” Harry grumbled, peeved that once again, he was being made to feel like he couldn’t even care for his own son.

 

Fenrir just snorted. “Don’t get grumpy, even the best mothers need someone to help them the first time.”

 

A dark flush blazoned across Harry's cheeks once more. “I’m his Dad, you arse,” Harry snapped, but laid back all the same, propped up by the duvets in his little nest, Kirian lying length-ways along him so he was actually higher than Harry's proffered nipple. “So bloody weird,” Harry murmured, not for the first nor last time as Kirian latched on greedily. This time, though he sucked hard, he didn’t seem to choke or splutter.

 

Neither of them spoke again until Kirian had finished feeding and was limp and content in Harry's arms. He’d fallen asleep while he drank.

 

“Glad I’m here with you now?” Fenrir murmured.

 

Harry glanced up, seeing Fenrir in the same position, half-reclined beside him and watching intently. “I am glad you’re here,” he admitted, “you have to remember I’ve more than enough reason to be tetchy is all.”

 

At this, Fenrir laughed, a proper laugh that ignited a smile on Harry's lips.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Piercing agony lanced through his every pore. His limbs quivered and shook with spasms for what seemed like an eternity until at last, the Dark Lord flicked his wand with a cruel twist and left his body in a crumpled heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, Severus Snape grit his teeth against the fire burning through his veins. He struggled to move his arms and they all-but screamed in protest. His chest stung with every breath and blood dripped from his nose.

 

“Rise, Severus,” Voldemort’s cool, sharp tone hissed. It was a test, a challenge of loyalty that a follower would push through even the lingering pain of the _Cruciatus_ to obey a command, just to please their master.

 

Knowing the pain would be worse if he did not obey, that he had to maintain his mask of loyalty, Severus bit back the groan of pain and shoved hard from the ground. His legs trembled as he staggered upward, barely holding him but his robes hid their weakness. Just being able to stand after such a vicious round of the torture curse was a feat in itself.

 

“My Lord,” Severus gasped, pleading. “The Potter boy is never far from Greyback’s side, it is impossible to penetrate the pack as a wizard. They loathe our kind.” Nevermind that he had seen Potter safe and sound, away from Greyback with his very eyes. The invisible walls around his mind kept that secret safe.

 

Suddenly Voldemort had swept forward, Severus’ own wand pressed against his throat. He could smell that foul breath, the reek of death and the wrongness of his own wand in another’s hand. “Then what _good are you_ to me, Severus?” Voldemort hissed.

 

Steeling himself against the panic in his chest, Severus spoke quickly, thinking on his feet, “Lupin is a trusting fool, I could infiltrate his circle of trust. He is of Greyback’s line, if anyone could get close enough to reach Potter it would be him.” He watched the truth in his words register in Voldemort’s crimson eyes. Years of practice had made him revoltingly good at this – give them just enough truth to believe the lies.

 

“Give me leave to try and convince him this was all part of Dumbledore’s master plan, to win his trust and I will bring Potter to you. The pair of them are trusting fools, it will be a simple task. Dangerous but simple, my Lord.” The pressure of the wand at his throat eased. Severus wanted to sag with relief but he did not dare. He kept his eyes on the Dark Lord’s pale, snake-like face and waited for permission to relax.

 

“Indeed, Severus,” Voldemort hissed, “I forget what a master of deceit you are…” There was a dangerous lilt to his voice. Severus had not breathed since the wand eased the pressure on his throat. Losing Nagini and his control of Potter and Greyback in the same instant had made Voldemort even more unstable, unpredictable. No one was safe. Nothing was certain.

 

“My Lord, only for you,” Severus murmured fervently. “Only in your service.”

 

A flash of those eyes was all the warning he had before Voldemort was raping his mind, anticipating the moment, he chose the opportunity to push a few choice memories and feelings forward. Dumbledore’s death, yes, remind him exactly what he had given up, what he had done in his service. It seemed to work.

 

His wand clattered to the floor between them. Severus followed it with his eyes but did not move to retrieve it – still waiting. Voldemort stepped back with that smile that feigned affection on his thin, white lips. “My most faithful, my most dedicated,” Voldemort began, the epithets that followed fell on deaf ears, for Severus was watching those eyes, listening to the piercing silence from those gathered around them in the circle, poised for any attack.

 

Voldemort gave his hand a flourish, gesturing for Severus to bend down to retrieve his wand. As he did so, however, the Dark Lord stepped closer, his shadow falling over him. Severus froze again, remaining still, on his knees, his fingers a scant centimetre from his wand.

 

“I do not give second chances, Severus,” the Dark Lord warned, his wand pressing hard into the back of Severus’ skull. “If you come to me without progress on bringing me Potter again, I will be most displeased. I want him. Him and that runt of his – by whatever means necessary.”

 

Severus didn’t even dare breathe lest that slight movement push Voldemort over the precipice of sanity on which he stood. “I will not fail you, My Lord,” he promised, voice low with respect.

 

A low, foreboding chuckle sounded from above. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw a few of the members of the circle tense. Ah, the Dark Lord was wearing that expression then, the darkly amused face that promised further torment.

 

“I have no doubt, Severus,” Voldemort practically cooed, “I am a firm believer of inspiring my followers to succeed, however. Perhaps a little something to give you incentive?”

 

Severus closed his eyes and let his body go as limp as possible – fighting it always made it worse.

 

“Crucio!”

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry groaned in bliss, eyes closed and head tipped back as hot, steaming water gushed over his head and body, cascading down his skin and washing away the grime and aches of the last few days. He’d forgotten how good a proper shower felt. The bath in their den back at the valley was luxurious but sometimes, a shower was just perfect. He ran his hand through his hair to wash out all the suds. The calming properties of the wizard shampoo made his scalp tingle pleasantly. He sighed and just relaxed under the stream.

 

Movement from just beyond the shower made him crack open an eye. His glasses were off so his vision wasn’t perfect, but he knew Fenrir was standing there – he had been before he’d got in after all. The wolf was still watching him, their tiny son cradled in one massive arm.

 

“Move over,” Fenrir muttered gruffly, shrugging off the loose trousers Harry had insisted he wore outside their ‘den’ and setting Kirian’s blanket and clothes to the side.

The water magically changed temperature just as Fenrir stepped into the shower behind Harry with Kirian in his arms – adjusting to the presence of their baby’s delicate skin no doubt. Even though Fenrir and Kirian were just out of reach of the spray. Harry turned and stepped back a little more to make room in the shower for Fenrir’s large frame. The water sluiced over him, warm and pleasant, relaxing.

 

Kirian fussed a little when Harry dabbed his arms, back and legs with a wet sponge, taking care not the stump of the cord get wet – Tonks having warned him about that before they’d even entered the bathroom. Harry smiled, brushing the backs of his knuckles over a chubby cheek before cupping the falling water in his hands and washing between tiny fingers and toes. He calmed soon enough. Contact seemed to soothe him greatly.

 

“You gunna do me after?” Fenrir chuckled.

 

Harry snorted. “Want me to change your backside too?” he mused. But the light atmosphere was sharply eradicated when Harry massaged clear water into Kirian’s thick dark curls and some water splashed into the boy’s eyes. He screamed bloody murder.

 

“Fucking shit!” Harry cried, hurriedly dabbing at his eyes and face with the towel that had been hovering outside the shower. The crying didn’t stop, not even when Harry tried to pop his fallen dummy back into his mouth, he wrestled him out of Fenrir’s arms and pulled him close. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He gasped frantically. “Oh, fuck, Kirian, I’m so sorry.” He bit the inside of his mouth, tucking the boy’s head against his neck and trying to shush him, the way he remembered when on an instinct-high. But the crying didn’t stop.

 

“I’m such a rubbish father,” Harry murmured, “can’t even wash him! I can’t do this, Fenrir, I’m such a–” His words were cut off as Fenrir reached forward, wrapping his arms tightly round them both and growling warningly, silencing his self-deprecation by letting the alpha in him surge forward and nip at the side of Harry's throat that bore his mark.

 

Harry grunted in penance, Kirian’s cries softening into nothing as the panic died from the air, sandwiched safely between his parents’ chests. Fenrir’s displeasure, his frustration was ripe in the air. Harry kept his eyes closed, breathing slowly. A few months ago it would have made bile rise in his throat at the thought that this kind of act could calm him; he would’ve balked but now…

 

_I accept it,_ he thought. _I know he is trying to make me calm down, make me feel better the only way he knows how. The way he’s been raised to. The way wolves do._ And he was a werewolf, in a manner of speaking. He understood that now. The thought didn’t bring so much bitterness now, only confusion and no little trepidation, when he thought of what he would do if he survived Voldemort.

 

“I’m bloody shit-scared as well, you know,” Fenrir grunted softly against his neck, gruff voice barely audible above the sound of the shower. “The last time I was solely in charge of children, they were burned alive in front of me along with my parents…”

 

Harry's throat suddenly felt tight and dry. “T-That…that wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You were just a child yourself–”

 

“I was nearly the same age you are now,” Fenrir said, effectively cutting him off. He glanced down, snatching up the fallen dummy, rinsing it under the shower and popping it back into Kirian’s mouth. The boy sucked contentedly, nuzzling into Harry's bare chest as he stared thoughtfully at Fenrir with big, bright green eyes.

 

Harry watched as the usually impenetrable, hard mask of Fenrir’s face softened. A huge, rough finger brushed against Kirian’s cheek. The baby gurgled softly. The love in those ice-blue eyes was unmistakeable. Anyone who knew ‘Greyback’ purely by reputation would not have believed this was the same man.

 

“I won’t fail you and Kirian the way I failed my brothers and sister,” Fenrir growled quietly.

 

Tipping his head forward, Harry let his forehead rest against Fenrir’s stubbly chin. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the man’s earthy scent. “You didn’t fail them and you won’t fail us. You won’t lose him.” Harry inhaled deeply, stifling his pride and leaning up on his toes to wrap his free arm round Fenrir’s shoulder. There, he rested his head and dragged his nose down Fenrir’s neck.

 

Scenting was an instinctual thing, a calming act and Harry rubbed his nose and lips chastely across Fenrir’s neck and shoulder, his stubbly jaw. “There are wizards and werewolves alike standing between him and danger. Nothing will happen to him.” He hefted Kirian’s body up slightly, looking down at the boy between their chests. He looked even smaller next to Fenrir’s immense stature, almost unreal.

 

After some time of the silent closeness, Fenrir held Kirian while Harry dried off, then Harry took the boy, drying him gently with the softe fluffy towel Kreacher had provided, while Fenrir took his turn in the shower.

 

What followed were the most ordinary moments of Harry's life since he’d found out there was a baby growing inside him. It was so perfectly human – or at least it felt so, when he sat down on the closed toilet lid wearing a loose-fitting pair of jogging bottoms, a freshly dressed Kirian wrapped up in his blanket upright against his naked chest.

 

It was with startling ease and without thought that he massaged a swollen nipple gently to let out the first burst of milk, before drawing Kirian close to him to feed. When the tiny boy was sucking slowly and calmly, one tiny fist tight around Harry's finger, Harry looked up and watched Fenrir shower.

 

So normal. For that moment, it all just felt so natural and calm. He watched the water run down those shoulders, that back and finally off Fenrir’s tight, muscled arse. Fenrir was more rough and thorough with the shampoo through his hair, vigorous as he soaped down and rinsed his body. Harry followed every movement thoughtfully, wondering just when he’d come to appreciate the man’s body so much.

 

Afterwards Fenrir stood in front of the sink, dragging an open razor across his foamed up cheeks and neck. He didn’t rid himself of the bristles that Harry secretly liked so much, only tidied the stragglers and Harry realised that despite knowing Fenrir did this regularly, to please _him_ , he’d never seen him do it before.

 

Fenrir caught Harry watching in the mirror and smirked. “He’s feeding for longer now, that’s good, the flow will probably settle down after a while.”

 

Harry just nodded, his mind elsewhere. After watching Fenrir dab off the rest of the suds and begin to splash water over his face, he finally found his voice.

 

“Fenrir,” he began uncertainly. “When Kirian was born, Conall was there. He tried to take me away he…” Harry grit his teeth. “He turned on Kirian and I just…I was all _feral_ and I leapt at him. I turned into a wolf and ripped his throat out.”

 

Fenrir said nothing. He did, however, lower his razor, rinse it and set it on the side. His icy blue eyes stared at Harry in the mirror, silent and thoughtful. Harry couldn’t stand it. “Say something!” he demanded, his voice harsh, quiet and ragged. “I’ve been so fucking scared all this time, wondering what’s happening to me – if I… If there’s something wrong! It’s unheard of for someone like me to transform like that!”

 

Turning to face him then, Fenrir met his eyes, his expression untroubled, blank. “It’s not unheard of. There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, sounding annoyed that Harry would even suggest there was.

 

Harry scowled. “Care to be a little more cryptic? What the bloody hell is going on with me then? Will I become a wolf every full moon too like you?” That thought shouldn’t frighten him, but it did. He’d just gotten to grips of controlling his body, his instincts, the thought that he might spontaneously transform like that…

 

Fenrir was standing directly in front of him then, staring down into his eyes. “I thought you’d come to accept what we are. Your life with me.” His voice was gruff and hoarse as ever, but Harry could feel the hurt throbbing through their connection. The uncertainty. He knew how much Fenrir hated being uncertain. He liked to be in control even more than Harry did.

 

Lowering his eyes to Kirian, Harry mopped up the milk that had leaked down his chin, and leaned him forward, supporting his tiny body with one of his hands under the boy’s chest. Having him here now made things…not easier, no, far from easier, but bearable. When things were difficult, he was a happy distraction, a reminder of why even the confusion and fear was worth enduring. A reminder that there was always hope.

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said simply, quietly as he patted a small burp from Kirian’s belly. “I don’t think you’re monsters – none of you. You’re…you’re the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had. In another life maybe I’d have been happy there with you all, without _Him_ as a constant shadow over me.”

 

Reaching down for baby Kirian, Fenrir hauled the tot up into his arms, holding him easily in one arm so that Kirian could seize his other finger, squeezing firmly, as if testing how his own tiny fist worked. “You weren’t happy at all? Not once in all those months?” Fenrir asked, his voice low.

 

Harry winced. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. He stood slowly, popping the dummy back in Kirian’s mouth when he began to fuss, caressing his thick dark locks. The red in them was so pronounced. He wondered if his hair would go auburn like his mother’s as he grew. The thought made him both happy and a little distressed.

 

“I’ve just come to terms with who I am, with what I am,” Harry murmured quietly, looking into Kirian’s eyes instead of Fenrir’s, that he could _feel_ were staring into him. “I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that I… _gave birth_ , that Kirian’s here and I…” He grit his teeth, loathing how pathetic it all sounded but needing Fenrir to understand. “I’m just not ready for anything else.”

 

A rough-skinned knuckle pushed his head up. Those calloused fingers caressed his throat in a way that, to an outsider would seem offensive or dangerous. To him it just felt…right. Fenrir’s hand massaged his throat gently, his skin brushing against the mark at the side of his neck. Harry exhaled softly and Fenrir’s expression softened, the hurt ebbing from his scent and presence in Harry's mind.

 

That comforting continuous growl was rumbling in Fenrir’s throat, making Kirian yawn and rest contentedly into his bare chest. Harry smiled at the sight, just as Fenrir’s thumb dipped over his adam’s apple and lightly stroked the hollow of his throat. “My mother, he could turn into a wolf, his coat was silver like mine,” Fenrir said, voice rough and quiet, warm.

 

Harry blinked, lips parting, but before he could voice his question, Fenrir spoke again in the same low voice.

 

“He didn’t turn at the moon and it wasn’t something he could do naturally, like I could, like Kirian will be able to. Wolves like you with the recessive gene, their turning isn’t something they’re born with it’s…” he cocked his head just a fraction. As he did so, the soft lights from around the room, the sunlight glaring in through the pristine windows caught the silver in his hair and beard, the grey in his eyes. Clean and shaven he looked so young and it made something in Harry's stomach clench hotly.

 

“It’s not something your wizards will ever know about, it’s something our packs keep secret,” Fenrir continued. “The only way I can explain it is…it’s like the magic young wizards and witches experience before they come of age. Erratic, driven by emotion.”

 

Harry frowned, then nodded. “When my aunt would cut my hair off it would grow back,” he muttered. “When I was being beaten up by Dudley and his mates I’d find myself on the school roof. I blew up Aunt Marge when she insulted my Dad…”

 

Fenrir looked far too amused at that and Harry knew he was thinking of ‘blew up’ in a literal sense. The man chuckled and Harry scowled half-heartedly.

 

“That happened because you were afraid or angry, emotional highs, our kind call it,” Fenrir pressed on and Harry felt his stomach twist hotly again, knowing that when Fenrir said ‘our’ he meant ‘theirs’ – his and Harry's. “It’s essentially the same for those with the recessive gene, like you and my mother. When you’re afraid beyond measure, angry, it will come over you.”

 

Kirian cooed happily behind his dummy, his fingers tightening around Fenrir’s index finger. “He likes my voice,” Fenrir mused. Harry thought so too, but he wouldn’t be so easily distracted.

 

“I’ve been plenty angry and afraid since you woke the wolf in me,” Harry said tersely. “Why hasn’t it happened before?”

 

“Because in a recessive lycan the change needs a different set of instincts, instincts that I didn’t activate in you when I woke your dormant werewolf blood. The instincts that are buried deeply in your core – _maternal instincts._ ”

 

Harry thought he understood now. He swallowed. “I had to give birth to Kirian before it’d work.” It was more of a statement than a question. He didn’t give Fenrir chance to answer it either way. “You utter prick!” he hissed dangerously, shoving back from Fenrir. “You arsehole! Why didn’t you tell me I might be able to turn into a wolf once he was born? Why didn’t anyone else tell me?”

 

Fenrir glared. “Echo and the others probably thought I would. And I always hoped you’d never have to–”

 

“You could have told me it _might_ happen! Bloody hell, Fenrir you absolute tosser!” Harry's hands curled into fists, magic crackling in the air around him, humming. He struggled to control himself, keep his voice down. Kirian hadn’t been disturbed by his anger yet and he wanted to keep it that way. His poor boy had spent enough of his short life crying in fear and confusion.

 

“The one thing I’ve always… _appreciated_ about whatever the fuck this is between me and you is that you’ve never lied to me. You’ve never kept things from me because you thought I was too delicate or weak. Too young. You’ve never kept the truth from me–”

 

“I’ve _never_ lied to you,” Fenrir said dangerously, “I _can’t_ bloody lie to you, even if I did believe in coddling you. Not with the bond.”

 

Harry knew that – as far as Fenrir thought, he was telling the truth, or else the bond would burn with the echo of a lie. A lie that Fenrir had never given to him. No. He hadn’t lied. “But you didn’t tell me the truth either, which is the same thing,” Harry muttered. “Don’t feed me the same bollocks everyone else has given me, Fenrir. You’ve never mixed your words with me before, why now? Why with this?”

 

Fenrir grit his teeth. “I didn’t lie,” he growled quietly, absently untangling his hair from Kirian’s grasp when the tot found a few loose strands to tug at clumsily. Fenrir looked so natural with him that for a moment, Harry forgot his anger and was overcome with a swell of endearing affection. But only for a moment.

 

“I didn’t lie.” Fenrir he said again gruffly, “I didn’t _not_ tell you because I thought you were a pussy who couldn’t handle the knowledge. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if it would manifest in you with your werewolf magic so new and if it did I…” He grit his teeth, clenching them tight around the sound of embarrassed, awkward pain – emotional pain. The sound had only shuddered through those teeth a few times since Harry had known him and now it halted Harry's anger like a _Finite_ over a raging _Incendio._

Slowly, he dropped back down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet seat again, staring up at Fenrir cautiously. Fenrir’s fear and misery – his humiliation on knowing Harry could sense it all were thick in Harry's throat. Harry frowned, a low, quiet whine leaving his own lips, drawing those pained blue eyes to him so that they could watch him as he arched his neck to the side. Instinctively he knew that Fenrir needed this, to see he was still Alpha, that feeling this pain didn’t make him lesser or weaker.

 

_That I don’t think any less of him because of it,_ his mind supplied.

 

Fenrir growled back in answer, the sound almost a purr. He leant down, sniffing at Harry's neck and licking gently. In his arms, Kirian stretched and fidgeted. Fenrir looked down at him and sighed, a thick thumb brushing across a pudgy pink cheek. “I know this is the _power the Dark Lord knows not_ ,” Fenrir said darkly, looking at Kirian, avoiding Harry's eyes although it was Harry he was speaking to.

 

Harry blinked. It was moments like these that it struck him that he and Fenrir knew each other so well in some things, yet still had so much to learn about one another in others. Fenrir still surprised him. He portrayed the visage of an oafish, meat-headed brute without sense, compassion or intelligence. But he thought on things, dwelled over them, knew things and understood things far better than he let on. He knew what Harry had meant when he’d told him the prophecy. Harry was ashamed to realise he hadn’t expected him to comprehend it entirely, least of all to remember that crucial part so flawlessly. Those very words that haunted Harry's mind in consciousness and sleep.

 

“You were afraid if I knew in advance I’d rush off and try and use it somehow to face _Him_ ,” Harry said, the words a statement, not a question. “You were afraid of losing me. You’re afraid I’ll leave you, one way or another.”

 

Fenrir snarled in annoyance, whirling around and storming toward the door. Harry flew forwards with speed he’d not touched on since before he was pregnant. He slammed his palm against the door below Fenrir’s arm as the man reached for it, stopping it from opening. Fenrir remained with his back to him, hand clenched around the door handle, Kirian tucked safely into his other arm. Harry growled, the sound rough with emotion and did not relax or move an inch, except to rest his forehead against Fenrir’s back. He closed his eyes.

 

“I would have told you if you’d asked,” Fenrir grumbled. “I’m not a liar. Don’t call me that.”

 

Not telling him up front was not all that different from outright lying, Harry thought, but in this case, that wasn’t important because he knew Fenrir spoke the truth now. He had never lied to Harry, never deceived him, despite all his other faults.

 

“I know you’re afraid,” Harry whispered, “I am too, just…” He clenched his eyes shut tighter. “You’re the only one that’s ever told me how it is, no bullshit, no matter how hard the truth is. Don’t…don’t take that away from me, alright? I need that I…” He licked his dry lips to moisten them. His throat still hurt. It felt as if he were choking on his own emotions and Fenrir’s. His nails dug into the wood of the door. “I need you.”

 

Slowly, Fenrir turned and wrapped his free arm around Harry's shoulders, hauling Harry up against his body so that the tips of his toes _just_ scuffed the floor, his neck tilted back as Fenrir nuzzled against his mouth and jaw. It was more intimate than a kiss somehow, because this was Fenrir’s idea of a kiss. Because Fenrir made soft, desperate noises when he did this and it made Harry's stomach warm and tight. Harry wrapped an arm around Fenrir’s neck and they stayed there for a minute. He knew this was Fenrir’s way of promising he would do as he’d asked.

 

_And Fenrir never breaks promises,_ he reminded himself. The silent moments that followed, just the three of them wrapped around each other were some of the most intimate moments of his life. He sighed, tilting his head into Fenrir’s stubbly jaw and made a small, animalistic sound of contentment and affection. It just came naturally now, especially when they were like this, so close and lost in each other.

 

Harry wanted to confess his worries to him, his concerns about what they would both do, where they would both go and if they’d be together in the same way once Voldemort was gone. He didn’t even know what he wanted, what Fenrir wanted and the words stuck in his throat. He just pressed back into that warmth and made soft, non-committal sounds in answer to Fenrir’s gentle growls, Kirian mewling sleepily between them, evidently practicing his own wolfish noises. Harry smiled distantly. Despite everything else, he wished this moment could last forever.

 

When they finally ventured back down stairs, however, it was to find Remus, Hermione and Ron standing around the kitchen looking grim. Severus Snape was sitting at the table, clearly waiting for them and Harry knew his little reverie was about to shatter. Harry froze at the sight of him, so did Fenrir. The werewolf set a reassuring, protective and possessive hand on Harry's shoulder, pushing Kirian into Harry's arms slowly – an instinctive motion, to free his hands and keep his precious family together in the face of a threat.

 

But Harry knew after Remus and Hermione’s explanations that Snape was not a threat, he knew everything. It didn’t mean he liked it. It did, however, make him realise that Snape was more like him that he realised; dragged along by Dumbledore, by a man they both respected and loved in the name of the greater good.

 

Harry sighed and approached the table, sitting down opposite Snape. Hermione and Ron sat either side of him without being asked, Remus remained where he was, standing nursing a cup of tea a little way behind Snape. Fenrir stood behind Harry, hands resting on the back of Harry's chair. He loomed over them all but Harry didn’t mind, it was a comfort to him, the warm shadow over his back. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle pleasantly. Hemming and Lupa were close by in the garden too, he could sense them. He felt safe, confident and empathetic with Snape. All this and the feel of Kirian’s comforting weight against his chest made him more at ease, able to keep calm when he returned Snape’s gaze.

 

“Wotcher, Professor,” he said brightly.

 

Snape’s dark eyes widened infinitesimally, then he frowned, barely withholding a sneer. “Potter,” he greeted warily. “I am glad to see you… _well_ ,” his gaze wandered pointedly to Kirian.

 

Harry smirked. For once, he had the upper hand, the advantage over his daunting Potions Professor. Snape was awkward at the sight of the baby in his arms, didn’t know what to say or how to act in regards to him.

In any other situation, Harry would've smiled. As it was seeing the man again, knowing everything, it was like a bad omen. He knew his presence in this house – the house that Snape loathed nearly as much as Sirius had, was not a good sign. Still, the man regarded him and Kirian oddly, a flicker of nostalgia in his usually hard face. It made Harry fidget awkwardly. He understood that Snape wasn't evil, that he’d only done what Dumbledore had asked him – in that respect, they were both painfully similar. He respected the man and the sacrifice he had made over the years, perhaps even revered him. That didn't mean he was any less uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze.

 

 After a long, extended silence, Harry cleared his throat. “I'm sorry for what you might've seen last time you were here, Sir,” Harry said, remembering with a flush that he’d been completely naked save for a nest of duvets the last time the man had laid eyes on him. 

 

 Snape blinked. “You were…not yourself. It is pardonable, you seem improved.”

 

 This cordial conversation unnerved him a little and Harry could only nod dumbly. He wanted to apologise for how he'd behaved after Snape had killed Dumbledore, for all the times he'd questioned his loyalty when it seemed he'd suffered just as much as Harry. He didn't think the potions master would appreciate the sentiment in front of the others, however and so he just waited for Snape to continue.

 

 “I regret there are more pressing matters than your health,” Snape said eventually. “The Dark Lord, in point of fact. He is weakening, losing his grip on reality and I think we all know why.”

 

 Harry nodded. Terrified when he'd been captured, Hermione and Ron had brought Remus and Tonks into the know. Fenrir, of course, knew as well. “The horcruxes,” he said. “You think he knows we've destroyed them?”

 

 “I do not think he knows how many you've destroyed, but his desperation has been growing since you killed Nagini. He suspects you know of them at any rate, I can tell,” Snape replied. “If he goes looking for the others and finds them gone, he is disturbed enough that he may believe making more is conceivable if it saves his life. He has that little regard for his soul or sanity.”

 

 Beside him, Hermione gasped. “But he – he's split it so many ways already–”

 

 “If he makes any more, we'll never find them,” Ron muttered miserably from Harry's other side. “He's insane enough to just keep making them.”

 

 Snape, to Harry's surprise, had no biting comment or sarcastic remark, merely nodded at Ron's deduction. “I would advise we act before he gets to that.” He looked seriously at Harry then. It was as if Harry were in charge, where Dumbledore had once been. Snape was treating him as the adult, the one with the responsibility. _Because he knows I'm the one when it comes to Voldemort,_ Harry thought distantly.

 

 “I must tell you now, I can no longer play the spy, not after today,” Snape continued. 

 

 Kirian gave an unhappy whimper in Harry's arms, fidgeting. Maybe he was uncomfortable at having so many bodies around him – maybe he was just a fussy baby, Harry wasn’t expert enough to know. He was only learning as he went and still felt insecure in his abilities as everyone watched him heft Kirian so he was upright, laying with his face against Harry's chest. Harry tried valiantly not to blush under everyone’s scrutiny as he rubbed his back slowly.

 

Fenrir’s hands tensed on the back of his chair and Harry glanced up to him, seeing those blue eyes warm but thoughtful. It made Harry fidget in his chair, aware that everyone was watching the exchange. But then those eyes reluctantly tore away and fixed distrustfully on Snape.

 

“Why can’t you spy any longer then, Snape?” the werewolf grunted. Harry had told him all that Hermione had revealed, including the truth of Snape’s loyalties, but it hadn’t seemed to change Fenrir’s opinion of the man.

 

Snape bristled and (to his credit) met that feral gaze without fear. “He expressed his displeasure that I could not give him Potter. After a generous amount of the _Cruciatus Curse,_ he then told me on no uncertain terms that I was so obtain Potter and his child by whatever means necessary,” he drew in a diminutive breath, “or else…”

 

Harry's chest felt tight. His arms tensed reflexively around Kirian. There was an unnervingly sympathetic look in Snape’s eyes as he regarded them and Harry wondered if he was seeing the image as a mirror to the one from seventeen years ago, when his mother’s arms had probably tightened around him in fear just like this. A sick feeling plummeted in his stomach as he thought of how she must’ve felt just like this, afraid for her son, afraid he’d be hurt or worse. Afraid she’d never get to see him grow up.

 

Harry's throat tightened. He felt sick. Fenrir, evidently swamped by the emotions rushing through him reached down and gripped his shoulders instead, a low, almost inaudible growl rumbling reassuringly in his throat. “You alright?” he muttered, “You want me to take him?”

 

“No,” Harry said quickly, his voice breaking. “No.”

 

Fenrir’s hands didn’t retreat. Harry was glad of that. He felt safe. If the others weren’t watching, he probably would have curled against his side, under his chin. It was all he could do to fight back the whine that rose in his throat on instinct. Those instincts made him give his den a side-glance, urging him to crawl in there with his cub and hide. He grit his teeth and fought it back. He thought he understood things, finally. The wolf was part of him, yes but only a part. He couldn’t allow it to rule him. He was still Harry Potter.

 

Everyone seemed to have noticed his urges, however, as they all looked surprised when he focussed back on Snape again. “It doesn’t matter,” Harry said at last, his voice stronger than it was before. “There’s nothing now to be gained by hiding. We need to act now, before he realises how many horcruxes are gone and tries to make anymore. You’re right, Snape, I wouldn’t put it past him to make more – to keep himself alive at all costs. At this point I don’t think he much cares about the state of his soul.”

 

Snape, looking a little stunned that Harry had admitted he was right, took a moment before he replied. “He never set much store by it, no. I doubt he even believes in souls or hearts.”

 

“But the fact of the matter is,” Remus interjected. “We still do not have a plan of how to defeat him. How to get to him.”

 

Snape looked briefly to Remus, apparently considering his words before focussing on Harry again. “Another reason why we must act quickly. If we can conjure a plan before I am summoned next, the mark will guide us to where he is – no matter how many wards or spells surround him,” Snape gestured to his currently covered forearm.

 

“Such is the nature of the Dark Mark. I will be able to take you to him, but only as long as my allegiance to him is believed. If I miss a summons or return to him without you…” The barest trace of a wince touched his sallow features. “Either way, we will not have such a flawless means to get to him when he least expects it. He will never see you coming until you are there – for as paranoid as he is, as useless as he believes me to be, he trusts my allegiance.”

 

Harry nodded tightly. He understood everything now. “That’s why Dumbledore wanted you to kill him, so when the time came, _Tergarletum_ would trust you and you could take me to him.”

 

Snape’s eyes went wide, his jaw tightened but perhaps he heard the understanding, the resignation in Harry's voice, for he did not snap back at him or growl a loathsome return. No, he merely nodded. They stared at each other. After seven years, it seemed they finally realised how similar they both were.

 

“He’s going nowhere without me,” Fenrir growled darkly, his large hands tensing on Harry's shoulders. “He may trust you, Snape but I don’t. I go with him or he doesn’t go.”

 

Snape raised a brow. “Overprotective guard dog, aren’t you? Indeed, not quite so terrifying fawning over an eighteen-year-old boy.” Snape’s face crinkled distastefully. “Practically a child himself and yet you forcefully beget a child _with_ him? You’re evidently lacking in the power and ferocity you’re reputed for if you set your sights on so small a prey.”

 

In the brief moment that Fenrir surged forward, Harry rose too, a hand out against his chest. Thankfully the table between them blocked his movement. But though the wolf inside him bristled at having his mate so blatantly disrespected, the human, the student in Harry remembered the memories he’d seen in Snape’s pensieve. He remembered the scared, hook-nosed, dark-haired child and he remembered that Snape hated bullies. He remembered that Snape, for all intents and purposes, wanted to protect him, despite their past and he pushed hard at Fenrir’s chest, holding him back.

 

The werewolf was half-crouched, ready to pounce over the table but Harry and Kirian were in front of him. Fenrir roared in loathing, in fury at Snape, his muscles tensed with power, yet held back by Harry's comparatively small hand on his chest.

 

“Stop it!” Harry snapped. Everyone else was standing too, wands drawn. That only served to make Fenrir more agitated. He hated wands, Harry knew that. Luckily Harry didn’t need one. He dug his elbow in Fenrir’s ribs, using his body weight to shove the man back further. When he was certain the wolf wouldn’t leap clear over him, Harry sighed and turned back to Snape, hefting Kirian up against his shoulder.

 

“It’s more complicated than it appears,” Harry said, realising that they were all staring at him again, apparently shocked, though Harry didn’t know what at in particular. He met Hermione’s eye and made a note to ask her what it was that had her and the others looking at him like that, before he pressed on. “We don’t have time to go into it now, but Fenrir didn’t mean to…to get me… _pregnant–_ ” It was still hard to force that word out. “-And he isn’t some bully. He’s… Look, we have a way to get to _Him,_ a really good way that he’ll never see coming. Snape can take me–”

 

“Us,” Fenrir grunted sharply. Before Harry could say another word, Remus spoke.

 

“Yes, Harry _us_ ,” he said, his eyes warm and meaningful. The expressions on the faces of Ron and Hermione told him they’d be coming too. In all honesty, though he wanted to protest (and probably would later) he knew it never would’ve been any other way.

 

“We can take care of any death eaters,” Remus continued. “Perhaps I can summon Bill, Arthur, Kingsley and the others.” When Harry opened his mouth to object, Remus carried on. “This is our best chance, Harry. We need everyone we have – we can’t afford to mess this up by being afraid to involve people. They’re all members of The Order of the Phoenix, they know what they’re getting into.” He looked to Severus. “You can bring us all, can’t you?”

 

Snape nodded. Apparently he agreed with the idea of strength in numbers. He’d seen how many people were at the Death Eater meetings, Harry supposed.

 

“So you big brave grown ups take care of the little snapdragons while Harry goes after the Horntail?” Fenrir growled, clearly displeased, despite knowing that it _had_ to be Harry that dealt with Voldemort. Harry knew it was the idea of the ‘adults’ relying on him, admittedly barely a man to face Voldemort. In any other situation, Harry might even feel that same resentment. But with Kirian’s warmth in his arms and Snape watching him, Dumbledore’s face clearly on both their minds, he just knew now was not the time to dwell on it.

 

If he thought about this too much he might remember that he was just an eighteen-year-old boy, that really, he was scared shitless.

 

“And just what is the plan you’re sending him off with to finish the Dark Lord?” Fenrir snapped. “You don’t even have one, do you?”

 

Harry closed his eyes, hearing the fear in that bark of a voice and slowly turned to face his mate. “We have a plan,” he said simply, calmly. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? The _power the Dark Lord knows not_? He’ll never see me coming. No one knows about it, not even Remus knew and he knows everything.” He heard Remus shift, clearly embarrassed with Harry's conviction in those words, but Harry pushed on, watching dawning horror creep into Fenrir’s eyes. Harry nodded, knowing he understood. “When I get close enough, I’ll become the wolf. He’ll never expect it.”

 

Silence fell. It was so thick with tension that Harry felt suffocated by it. This was news to Ron, Hermione and Snape, who were struck dumb with shock. Remus was watching, apparently calculating Fenrir’s reaction alongside Harry while Fenrir…

 

The alpha’s entire body tensed. His eyes narrowed and his jaw set. “No,” he murmured darkly. “You can’t even control the transformation. You’re relying on something that might not even come to you when you call it. It’s suicide.” His teeth were visible in his snarl and his face was hard, unmoving. “No.”

 

Harry glared. “This isn’t your decision to make,” he said firmly. “I came to terms with this a long time ago – I have to do this. I _will_ do this. I’m the only one who can and this is the only way. It was _meant_ to be this way. Can’t you see that?”

 

“I don’t believe in prophecies or fate,” Fenrir snarled.

 

“Then believe in _me,_ ” Harry all-but pleaded, very aware of the resonating silence from everyone else in the room. “I can do this, you can teach me how to control it–”

 

“No.”

 

“Fenrir,” Harry began, brow furrowed in frustration. He felt the change in the air even before Fenrir moved. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

 

“No,” Fenrir snapped, stalking forwards. Drawn up to his full height, he glared down into Harry's face as he stood over him, demanding submission. Harry could feel the man’s fear and helplessness and watched them morph into anger on the man’s face. He watched him trying to reassert himself, try and take some power back. Harry understood but he did not surrender, not to his instincts and not to Fenrir. Not this time.

 

There were times for surrender and times for pushing back. He bit back the wolf inside that longed to bend its neck under that gaze and growled deep in his throat. “Then don’t help me,” he snapped, “but I’m doing this. With or without your help.”

 

“And where does my son fit into all this? You gunna carry him with you into battle? Leave him here with one of your humans to grow up without you? Because that’s what will happen. You will die. You will die and leave him all alone.”

 

Harry's arms tightened around Kirian. The boy wasn’t fussing or crying but had gone still and quiet, the little wolf in him telling him what to do when a battle for dominance was going on around him. “Don’t use _our son_ as a weapon to get me to do what you want,” Harry hissed. “I don’t care how scared you are. Don’t sink that low.”

 

Fenrir sneered, practically touching Harry now he was so close, a dangerous desperation in his expression and stance. “I’d sink lower to get you to see reason,” he barked and exposed his teeth. Harry didn’t move, only lifted his chin in defiance when he felt the urge to turn his neck. He stepped forward, stepped up and did not move away. The battles of wolves were fought primarily with confidence and body language rather than teeth and claws. This was why he was the Alpha Numero. He could give as good as he got.

 

Ron, Hermione and Remus were nearby, seemingly torn between reaching for their wands and throwing themselves bodily to his aid. Harry stilled them with a glance. He was not afraid. Fenrir wouldn’t hurt him. He knew the man

well enough to know that right now, he needed Harry to push back.

 

“I’m not weak,” Harry said at last. “I can do this. I _will_ do this.”

 

Fenrir roared in furious frustration then, stepping back but only to give himself room, the sound still resonating in his throat as his body morphed into the wolf. As silver fur, fangs and bright blue eyes, rimmed with gold met his gaze, Harry recalled briefly how afraid he used to be of the wolf. But no more. Fenrir was the wolf, there was nothing to fear, even with its fangs exposed and demanding surrender. He was so close Harry could feel his breath on his face. Hermione gasped and Ron drew in a sharp breath. Both they and Remus reached for their wands.

 

Harry stepped forward.

 

Fenrir snarled. Harry growled back and what he lacked in power he made up for in confidence. With his son on his hip, he glared, pushing back until the wolf snapped, whirling about and swiping angrily at the dresser. The wood and dinnerware crashed to the floor in pieces and the wolf bolted, leaping clear over Harry and the table and crashing through the window out of sight.

 

A long silence fell as the atmosphere in the room thinned, the tense heat from the struggle for dominance faded. Harry exhaled slowly, smiling reassuringly at Kirian, who looked perfectly content, unfazed by what had happened. It occurred to him that, like a normal wolf cub, this type of thing would probably happen around him often and was as natural to him as suckling at Harry's chest. Part of who he was, just as it was part of Harry.

 

Glancing round at the others in the room, who hadn’t dared move, Harry smiled at them all as well, twisting his free hand and sending the broken shards of wood and china back together. The teapot looked a little… _off_ somehow, but the dresser, plates and cups looked as good as new. With a longing glance at the cupboard, he sat down in his chair again, leaning his head back against it. He closed his eyes.

 

After a time, the others in the room resumed their seats too and Harry felt Hermione rest a hesitant hand on his arm. Harry cracked open his eyes, feeling a lot calmer with Fenrir’s alpha pheromones out of his nostrils. Remus was making a cup of tea in the fixed teapot, seeming to be studying the one hairline crack that remained as he did so. He met Harry's eyes with awe that Harry didn’t particularly like, so he turned away to look at Snape instead. The man was simply regarding him as coolly as ever.

 

When Remus sat a cup of tea down in front of all of them, Harry reached for it and sipped, cautious of the heat before speaking. “How much time do you think I have?” he asked Snape.

 

Those dark eyes studied him critically over his folded fingers. “He gave me three days.”

 

Harry nodded and glanced down into Kirian’s face as the boy gave a wide yawn. It was so short amount of time but he _had_ to do it, for Kirian, for everyone. Even Fenrir, though he might not see it that way at that moment.

 

“Can you apparate us all there?” he asked.

 

“It is not the same as apparition,” Snape said, “I do not need to explain further than that. Suffice to say I can bring as many people as required. You do not have to concern yourself with that.” He glanced to Remus. “There is strength in numbers, as they say.”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“It might take a lot out of you, to carry so many with you,” Remus murmured.

 

Snape glared disdainfully. “I will do what needs to be done,” he said tartly. “You and I will send word to the others to convene here as soon as possible. We need to prepare.” With that, he swept to his feet and around the table, pausing on his way toward the door. He glanced at Harry, hesitating, then with an air of half-heartedness, glided to Harry's side. It was as if he were being persuaded by an invisible hand.

 

Harry lifted his chin, feeling every inch the eleven-year-old again with Snape towering over him, staring down into his face. Kirian turned at the presence, curious and more aware than a human child of his age, staring up with dazzling green eyes at the dark figure.

 

Severus Snape blinked and his breath caught in his chest at the sight. His dark gaze roved Harry's face, then Kirian’s before coming to rest on Harry again. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and hoarse. “You have your mother’s eyes. Both of you do.” That voice, it was so rough with emotion, so revealing. The man swallowed hard, as if trying to find his usual snide tone somewhere deep within himself. But it was too late. Harry had seen the look on his face and could guess what it meant.

 

Something heavy like lead plummeted in his belly. Holy fuck. The _doe Patronus_ – that he now knew was Snape’s, thanks to Hermione _._ Did it mean what he now thought it meant?

 

Harry swallowed then, his mouth and lips suddenly dry. “Sir?” he asked, uncertain – of himself, of Snape, of what he _thought_ he knew.

 

“You are more like her than Potter, no matter what they say,” Snape whispered, for Harry's ears only, dark gaze focussed on Kirian. His hand twitched where it hung at his side, moving as if to touch the infant, but the man seemed to catch himself just in time and tensed, not allowing the limb to move.

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry managed to find his voice. “He has auburn in his hair,” he said, the words sounding thick and stupid in his own ears. “I think he’ll take after mum.”

 

“Good,” Snape said, apparently before he could stop himself. He blinked, as if escaping a trance and took a few steps back, his mask falling into place. “Anything would be preferable than the infant taking after _Greyback_ of all people – if your _mate_ can be considered a person.” The usual, derisive sneer was back and Harry couldn’t help himself, he smirked. He knew the truth. Snape didn’t need to confirm it.

 

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry said, holding those eyes so the man understood. He hefted Kirian a little higher on his hip; belatedly realising Severus had probably seen (or at least imagined) Lily in a similar position with him eighteen years before. He wondered if the sight had hurt him enough to make him this bitter, or if it had been her death that had sealed the darkness in his heart. He supposed he would never know, because Severus Snape merely nodded and turned, sweeping out of the room.

 

“Harry?” Remus asked after a short silence. “Are you...? That is…after Greyback’s episode are you alright?”

 

Harry turned to face Remus, then glanced out the window pensively. “He’ll be alright. He’ll come back once he’s let off some of the rage.”

 

Remus frowned. “I asked if _you_ were alright, Harry.”

 

“I’m not afraid of him. He may be a big grumpy arse but he’d never hurt me, Remus.” He frowned at the man. “I know what you thought you saw just now, but that’s just–” He ran a hand through his unruly locks in frustration. Why was it so hard to explain this to people? Had he found it so hard to understand at the beginning? It felt like second nature now – maybe even first nature. “–It’s just an alpha thing. You should know, Remus, the balance between wolves is hardly ever physical. It’s all about who has the biggest balls – so to speak,” he added hastily when Hermione blushed and Ron made a choking noise.

 

“Look,” he continued, sitting back in the chair, sitting Kirian mostly against his chest so he could swap supporting arms. “Trust me, alright? You saw how angry he got just then and he still didn’t touch me. He wouldn’t. He’d sooner bite off his arm, alright? Couldn’t you see that? Even _Snape_ could see that.”

 

Surprisingly, it was Ron that answered. “I saw it, mate,” he said, taking a seat directly next to Harry. Harry tensed but the urge to flinch away was not as strong as the realisation that his friend was trying to understand him. Ron smiled fractionally at the gesture and pressed on, glancing to Kirian briefly as he did so. “I saw him, I saw you. I just don’t know how you controlled him – made him stop even though we were all scared shitless!” He blushed so dark even the tips of his ears went maroon. “I froze up, mate. I’m man enough to admit that.”

 

Hermione cleared her throat, her hands resting on Ron’s shoulders as she came to stand behind him, looking at Harry. “What he means to say is that Greyback is so strong, Harry. You’ve always been brave; goodness knows you faced Voldemort when you were eleven years old. I just don’t understand how you made him back down without even blinking.”

 

With a frown, Harry looked at each of them in turn. “I didn’t control him, I know our relationship is hard to understand but it’s not about controlling each other. It’s…” He hesitated, wondering how best to explain the dynamics between an alpha pair. He peered up at Remus, who probably understood it the best. “We’re connected,” he flushed a little. “We’re a mated pair. We can feel what the other is feeling; we use body language to gauge how far we can push the other. We don’t…we’re not _monsters._ We don’t beat each other into submission. He knows how far he can push me, when I mean what I’m saying, when I will hold my ground.”

 

Slowly, he ran a hand over Kirian’s dark hair and stroked the nape of his neck gently, thoughtfully. The tiny baby sighed gently and made a whimpering contented sound into his chest. Harry felt the tension drain from his limbs before glancing out of the window again. “He knows and he respects my decisions, even if he doesn’t agree with them.”

 

Hermione nodded slowly, disbelievingly, staring at Harry as if she were trying to figure him out, decipher some hidden meaning behind his words. Ron leant forwards on the table, hands wrapping around a half-empty teacup. He stared at it, gripped it as if it were his lifeline for a long while before he spoke. “How did you get Fenrir Greyback to fall in love with you?” he asked, voice a barely-there whisper.

 

Harry froze. “I… What?”

 

Ron gave him an awkward look. “It’s bloody obvious, isn’t it? I didn’t even think you were gay, mate. I mean with Ginny and Cho and all, but he’s completely under your thumb – the most fucking terrifying man in England besides You Know Who himself and he’s…” Ron blushed darker than ever before, looking a little bit sick. “He’s… _smitten_ or something.”

 

Harry's face flamed. “I… He’s not… We’re not…” His voice faltered. He stared down at Kirian to hide the uncertainty and embarrassment in his eyes. Wasn’t that just the crux of the problem? He didn’t know what they were to each other and he didn’t know what was coming if they survived Voldemort either. Rocking Kirian slightly against his chest, he rubbed his back in slow, thoughtful circles that were just as calming to him as they were to his son.

 

Kirian would need and want both of them, of course. They would need to do what was best for him, but aside from that, what did they want from one another? What did Fenrir want to do once Voldemort was dead? What did Harry want? A heavy, inescapable weight settled in his belly and chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe…

 

A warm hand rested on his and he jumped, startled at such an innocent touch. It was still hard to get used to, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. He smiled up at Hermione in what he hoped was an appropriate mix of apology and thankfulness. Both of his friends just sat with him in understanding silence for a while, accepting that he didn’t have an answer – not for them or for himself.

 

“I need to try and turn into a wolf,” Harry said at last, glancing out the window again. Fenrir, Hemming and Lupa were nowhere in sight. Odd. He hoped no unsuspecting muggles saw them, especially in the state they were in. An image of muggles with hunting rifles closing in on the three bear-sized wolves came unbidden to his mind and he shuddered, even though logically he knew they would be alright.

 

“Will you help me?” he asked his friends, realising Fenrir wouldn’t be back until he’d calmed down – and then asking him to help probably wouldn’t be the most practical idea. Ron and Hermione looked eager. Perhaps because it was like old times, like their youth spent as a trio solving problem after problem. Harry smiled at the thought, knowing his friends saw this as a bridge for the gap that had grown over their few months apart.

 

Slowly, with every muscle in his body screaming in negation, Harry rose and stood before his friends. With a wince, gritted teeth and with breaths coming out in laboured pants, he forced himself with every fibre of his being to offer Kirian down into Hermione’s arms.

 

Hermione stared with wide, shocked eyes, not moving at first, as if it were a trick.

 

Harry grunted. “Take him, quickly – I can’t–” Before he changed his mind! Hermione, seeming to understand what he was doing, took Kirian carefully, supporting his tiny head and pulling him in close to her body. The little boy whimpered at being distanced from Harry, his face wrinkling a little in uncertainty, but did not cry. Harry was thankful. He did not think even his determined resolve could withstand that.

 

Quickly, he forced himself a few steps back, well out of the way and lowered himself to his knees – which he only just realised were shaking. He saw the realisation strike Ron’s eyes as he looked up at his friends and his son from the floor. His heart was hammering now, sweat beading across his skin. The tiny hairs on his flesh prickled and his nails dug into the flagstone floor at the absence of his cub from his arms, at the sight of someone else holding his son’s vulnerable body.

 

Harry felt the wolf roaring in negation inside, clawing at his throat in desperation. He growled back at it, as if daring it to come forth, the instinct that had awoken in him that night in the den, when he’d ripped Conall’s throat out with his teeth. No. His _fangs._

 

It was like a rush of adrenaline bursting through his veins. Like white-hot fire licking through every limb. Every appendage shook as if wrapped in livewire. He screamed as it tore through him. He grit his teeth so hard his gums ached. Everything hurt. The world was shifting, jerking violently as he quivered. He could feel something sharp piercing his gums. His spine arched of its own volition and sent him sprawling forward onto his hands and knees.

 

“Harry?” Ron asked, panic in his voice. “Mate?”

 

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice then.

 

Through the spasms, through the throbbing pain of boiling blood pounding and his innards twisting and shifting, Harry forced his head back with a jerk to look at them. Ron now stood uncertainly, one arm on Hermione’s chair, eyes wide as they looked on. Hermione was white and her arms were wrapped tightly around his baby boy. His son fussed, unaccustomed to being so far away from Harry and the little sound of confusion was enough to send a wave of spiralling pain through Harry's back legs. They were were ripped out from under him with the force of bones snapping and growing.

 

This was unlike before. It was slower with the ‘threat’ to his cub not as serious, now he was leaning into it, seizing the wolf within by the scruff and taking advantage of what it wanted instead of pushing it down. He was now forcing it out, bringing it to the surface like dragging the weight of Ron’s body from the depths of the Black Lake. Only stronger, more painful, but just as instinctual. “Come on!” He roared but half way through, the sound turned to a snarl and a howl of pain as his arms flew forward, twisting and crunching with the change. Harry landed on his tender chest hard, glasses flying out of the way, out of sight and he writhed.

 

“Harry?” Hermione gasped, jerking forwards but at the last minute Ron pulled her back, dragging her away from Harry.

 

“No!” Ron said urgently and the human in Harry was intensely grateful. They’d come this far. It hurt so much. If she brought Kirian closer the urgency that he’d built the wolf up into would fail and he would lose his grip on it. It would be for naught. He knew somehow if he could force it out just this once it wouldn’t be as hard again next time, he just knew it.

 

“Get back, Hermione!” Ron insisted. “It’s the wolf, right? It needs to feel…threatened.” Ron looked uncertainly to Harry. Harry screamed and tried to nod, frantically – he hoped his best friend understood. They must have, for Ron and Hermione scrambled back, putting the entire table between them and Harry. It did the trick. From his place on the floor, Harry could only see Ron and Hermione’s legs, could not see Kirian at all. He could only hear his increased fussing, his tiny lungs expanding with the need to see him.

 

The wolf howled through his human lips. How could he not answer his cub’s cries? He _had_ to. He needed to see him, to hold him. His fingers arched and snapped on the stone. His skin was pierced from the _inside_ by a thousand hot needles as fur grew from it – all over. It was right there, on the cusp. He must’ve looked like the fabled ‘wolf-men’ from muggle horror films, writhing, whimpering and snarling on the floor. But this was not the full form; he needed the wolf to taste victory, to reach his cub.

 

Dragging himself across the floor with semi-transformed, awkward limbs, he choked as fangs pierced his gums and grew up, deforming his still mostly human mouth. His eyes flashed gold and his vision sharpened. As did his other senses. He smelled those keeping his son from him but he also sensed…

 

Harry's head whipped from side-to-side on instinct. Even through the fog of pain he felt the presence of _four_ wolves. From the right, in the arch of the stairwell stood a dark-furred, skinny, shabby looking wolf. To the left, his mate stood, obscenely large in the kitchen, the two pack-mates behind him. Harry writhed and yelped as more bones snapped in semi-transformation, edging closer to the full form but slowing now.

 

_No!_ His human mind wailed desperately, feeling his grip on the wolf slipping through his fingers like butter. _No! No! No!_

 

Suddenly, sensing his panic, Fenrir surged forward with a furious growl, snapping ferociously near Harry's face. Harry flinched and rolled to the side but snapped his less-impressive, quasi-human jowls back at him, unwilling to submit. Their cub needed him, couldn’t he see that?

 

The alpha growled again, deeper, angry still, his fury, frustration and fear thick in Harry's lungs until he was chocking on it. The silver wolf snapped, only just missing Harry's ear and Harry whined in distress when his cub cried in earnest. A flash of dark brown bolted towards them from the stairwell and a now fully transformed (albeit shabby) brown wolf stood over Harry, skinny but every bit as determined and angry as the larger, silver alpha.

 

Evidently new to this, despite his age, having never learned the ways of wolves in all his years, the brown wolf seemed to think _Fenrir_ was the threat Harry was in anguish over. He didn’t realise that Fenrir’s aggressive behaviour was an act to help him toward his goal. The brown wolf thought the alpha was the source of his cries, not the distance between Harry and his cub. Harry whined again, pawing at him, trying to make him understand in his still half-transformed agony.

Fenrir’s jealousy flared in his throat at the sight of him touching at another and the wolf dove, nipping in reprimand at Harry's half-formed hind leg. In response, the brown wolf growled warningly, his teeth bared even in the face of the alpha’s fury. His ears slicked back and he dove for Fenrir’s throat.

 

Remus. No. _Moony._

_~To Be Continued…_


	21. Metamorphosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support every week. Really appreciate seeing how much you’re all enjoying the story :)

.: Chapter Twenty-One :.

Metamorphosis

 

 

The wolves locked together, rolling across the kitchen floor in a ball of fur, teeth, claws and snarls. Harry yelped, dragging himself toward them to try and stop it but impaired, frozen in his deformed semi transformation, crippled with pain and unable to go either way – neither human or wolf. He was stuck. And his cub was crying louder than ever.

 

He watched through agonised eyes as the brown wolf snapped, narrowly missing the silver wolf’s neck. The alpha growled, enraged and threw the brown wolf off him, sending his smaller, less powerful frame into the wall. The slighter creature scrambled up instantly. He staggered but bolted forwards in misguided desperation to protect Harry. The two other pack-mates watched on, silent and respectful of the battle waging before them. A battle for dominance like they had seen many times before – but not with an outsider, not like this.

 

By challenging the alpha over his treatment of his mate, the outsider was unwittingly trying to stake a claim over the Alpha Numero himself – albeit a claim of father and cub rather than a mate bond. It was the greatest insult of a challenge, one they had not seen before except with the rogue wolves. All of whom were now dead. It would be a miracle if this one did not end up the same way.

 

The brown wolf collided with the silver, both hurtling backwards and crashing into the great oak table which splintered under their weight. Behind it, the two humans screamed and rushed out of the way. Just in time. The wolves crashed to the side, where they’d been standing a moment before. The silver wolf pinned the darker to the floor, fangs bared.

 

Then Harry saw them. He saw the two humans holding his son and pressed tight against the wall, trying to make a beeline for the door. The two wolves were skirmishing only feet away from his vulnerable cub.

 

Harry roared, body morphing in a handful of sections. His claws scraped on the stone as his arms stretched, snapping and crunching until they were two black-furred forelegs that heaved his weight forward, upright. His back legs were fully changed by the time he got them up under him. He pushed off from the ground, leaping into the fray and landing on the splintered remains of the table a black wolf.

 

Snarling, he threw himself into the silver wolf, the speed of his body rather than strength sending his alpha staggering back away from the brown wolf. The brown wolf that was too stunned to move up from the floor. Harry glared with gold-rimmed eyes at his mate, looking from their squalling cub to his mate again, making sure he understood. He would not tolerate a battle so close to his young. The alpha gave a deep, low yip of apology and with a slightly lowered head and tail, edged forward to glide his muzzle against Harry's.

 

Harry remained still, allowing the apology and contact but not leaning into it as he might if he weren’t so angry with them endangering his cub. He huffed, watching his cub wriggle in the human girl’s arms as his mate sniffed and licked him. His body was still tingling unpleasantly from the change but he no longer hurt. Now he’d passed into this form of his own volition, it was easy to hold.

 

The strength of his mate nuzzling his side made him stagger a little as he pulled away, padding toward the humans and his fretting young. The fiery-haired male tensed but otherwise did not move on his approach, reeking of uncertainty but mostly worry – for him, he realised. The female was gasping for breath, heart beating frantically. She smiled tightly as he approached and kept her head low, neck exposed as she bent down, laying his cub on the floor before him.

 

She’d watched him long enough to know what he needed from her.

 

Watching her step back to the wall beside her own mate, Harry then dipped his head, sniffing carefully at his cub to ensure he was unharmed. He nosed aside the blanket and nuzzled naked skin. Quickly, he lapped at the infant’s face, neck, chest and tiny hands as they came up to tug at his muzzle. Harry huffed and licked him again, giving him a thorough tongue bath until the crying stopped.

 

Slowly, his human mind edged to the forefront and he realised how peculiar he must look, a bear-sized wolf crouched over a tiny baby. He lifted his head and saw Ron and Hermione watching him, felt the eyes of the others on his back. Kirian’s panic and upset ebbed away now he could feel him near. His little bludger recognised him in any form, it seemed, which made Harry wag his tail happily before he even realised what he was doing.

 

As the tension dwindled and the atmosphere eased, however, he began to feel his grip on the wolf being tugged away. With a low, piteous whine he lowered himself down, crouching with his paws outstretched around his son. He clenched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth, ears slicked back and tail between his legs as he struggled to hold onto the wolf. His skin prickled, the fur standing on end as it tried to recede.

Suddenly, movement at his side made him crack his eyes open, eyes that flickered rapidly from gold to green, to gold to green again. Fenrir was kneeling beside him – a man again and naked as the day he was born. He reached forward, his still huge hand smoothing over silky black ears and resting on Harry’s neck. The comforting weight there distracted Harry enough from the inferno burning in his shuddering, aching limbs as they fought the shift, that everything stilled.

 

“The hardest part is over,” Fenrir grunted, gripping the scruff of his neck firmly when his limbs began to spasm again. “Grit your teeth and push out into all your limbs, force them to freeze in place – as they are. As the wolf. Harry whined through his teeth. Fenrir hauled him upwards, forcing his uncontrollably shaking legs to scramble on the stone floor for purchase.

 

“Find your feet,” Fenrir insisted. “Push down into all of them, into your tail – make them still.”

 

Harry's entire body tensed further as he straightened out, his paws pushing heavy and clumsy onto the floor but steady. His tail, he forced it outward, forced it to move from side to side instead of hang limply between his legs. He swayed but remained upright and only when he was perfectly still, did Fenrir remove his hand. Those strong, thick fingers brushed reassuringly against his chin.

 

“Head up,” he barked. Forcing his eyes open, Harry complied. With a head held high, he stared into Fenrir’s eyes. The man rose fully to his feet, scooping up their tiny son, who was quiet and content again now the atmosphere had calmed.

 

Beside them, Remus was human again, gratefully pulling on the robe Hermione found and offered him. She and Ron joined him, Hemming, Lupa and even Tonks (who had appeared in the doorway at the commotion), watching the exchange between the alpha pair.

 

Fenrir almost-smiled at Harry, pride evident in his expression. “Has it settled?” he asked.

 

Harry huffed softly in the affirmative, his human mind in full control now that the panic had subsided, his instincts quelled.

 

“Good,” Fenrir said. “Now change back and we’ll try it again.” He glanced to Remus, who was still panting for breath, face and arms covered in scratches and scuffs. “You’ve never transformed outside the full moon,” Fenrir noted – a statement, not a question.

 

Remus glared at him, surrendering to Tonks’ fussing and insistence that Hermione cast a healing charm over the scratches.

 

Fenrir glanced back to Harry, who was licking at Kirian’s toes affectionately, still a jet-black wolf with green eyes. “I would never have hurt him,” Fenrir said solemnly to Remus, rubbing a black pointy ear tenderly. “I wasn’t the one making him afraid. Your display of protection, while impressive for a wolf doped up on wolfsbane, wasn’t necessary.”

 

Remus winced as the deep scratches sealed shut under Hermione’s wand. Tonks was smoothing his hair back from his sweaty face but he was staring at Fenrir and Harry. “What was I supposed to think when I sense such terror and desperation, follow it and find you snarling and snapping at him like a beast?” Remus demanded, irritated, uncomfortable, still shaky from his own transformation and no doubt all-too aware that he had not been able to hold it – whereas Harry had.

 

“I felt his fear too, you know. I just controlled my reaction to it. He needed me to push him, not mother over him,” Fenrir said gruffly, turning his attention back to Harry, who had now stumbled back, his body twitching as if suffering a seizure. It was a long, slow process but black fur receded, long, thick legs, tail and muzzle shifting back. A low whine of pain pierced the air. After some time, Harry lay naked and shuddering on the ground, breath ragged as if he’d run a marathon.

 

“Harry!” Hermione cried, flying forwards and gripping a shoulder reassuringly. She directed cooling and calming charms simultaneously at him, smoothing her hand over his sweaty forehead.

 

Harry gasped for air, peering up from beneath her hand and his dark fringe to see Fenrir tensing slightly at Hermione’s wand directed at Harry's vulnerable, weakened body. Harry smiled breathlessly, reassuringly. Instincts or no instincts, he trusted Hermione, trusted her magic. It was like a reassuring, soothing balm on his frayed nerves. Still panting, he set a hand on hers where it rested on his head, unable to thank her with words at that moment.

 

“Here, mate,” Ron muttered softly, uncomfortably from his other side, dropping a crisp, plain white table cloth over Harry's body respectfully. Harry nodded, pulling the huge spread tightly around him, preserving what remained of his dignity. He took a few, deep, slow breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth. Slow and steady, until his lungs and heart stuttered back into a calm rhythm.

 

“Thanks,” he managed out, his voice a little hoarse, sounding strange to his ears.

 

“If I want him to survive this, to come home, I have to be what he needs – not what he wants,” Fenrir continued, talking to Remus but with his eyes staring straight into Harry's. Harry staggered to his feet, his expression and the emotions pulsing through their bond saying what his lips could not. How Fenrir was right. How he was exactly what he needed and wanted. To Harry they were one and the same.

 

“He’s got enough mother hens flapping around him,” Fenrir pressed on.

 

Remus glared; evidently realising he was being included in that insult.

 

Fenrir chuckled, shifting Kirian up in his arms, scooping up the dropped dummy and wiping it off before popping it back into the boy’s mouth. The baby sucked happily and his eyes fluttered as he nuzzled into Fenrir’s neck. “He needs me to be his partner,” Fenrir said, “not his bloody den mother.”

 

Remus and Ron looked so indignant at this that Harry had to laugh. He used the cover of the tablecloth to struggle back into his trousers, then shrugged it off when his lower half was dressed. All the while, he watched the exchange between Fenrir and Remus.

 

“You’ve never transformed outside the full moon,” Fenrir noted once more.

 

Remus looked at the alpha reluctantly. “I’ve never become a full wolf before either,” he said simply, tone guarded. A full wolf, not the sickly wolf hybrid Harry had seen before.

 

It was then that Harry's brain finally registered what exactly had happened. Similar to how he had first become the wolf out of the need to protect Kirian, Remus had turned to ‘save him’ when he had heard him unwittingly calling out in distress and pain. The notion, while staggering, made a soothing bubble of comfort grow in his stomach. It stunned him to silence. He listened.

 

“The change,” Remus began in a slow, quiet voice, “it felt different to the one I suffer under the moon.”

 

Fenrir snorted. “It was a full transformation untainted by wolfsbane. You only take it the days leading up to the full moon, I take it?” he didn’t wait for Remus’ answer. He didn’t need a response, Harry knew that. _He_ could smell that there was no trace of wolfsbane in Remus’ body right now, so Fenrir must have been able to. Fenrir continued. “In that split second, with no wolfsbane and none of your loathing for what you are, the wolf took over on instinct to make you stronger, to let you help Harry. Cubs and subs who’ve recently whelped bring all wolves’ instincts to the surface.”

 

For some time, no one said a word. Awkwardly, Ron and Hermione righted the table complete with a pot of fresh tea. Harry sank into a chair beside them both while Tonks guided a still shaky Remus into another chair opposite them. He was still flushed and sweaty, but he looked healthier than he had in all the years Harry had ever seen him. It was as if the change had knocked years off his appearance. The complete polar opposite to how the full moon under wolfsbane affected him.

 

Cautiously, Harry looked to Fenrir. The brief flicker he saw in those eyes confirmed his suspicions.

 

“You feel stronger than ever, don’t you?” Fenrir said at last. He had crossed the room and come to stand before Harry, holding his gaze with meaningful, unspoken expression that only Harry could see. He was speaking to Remus though and they all knew it.

 

Tonks was the one that answered, however. “He looks even younger than the day I met him,” she whispered. “How can that be?”

 

Fenrir held Harry's eyes for a moment longer before looking between Tonks and Remus in clear awkward exasperation. He ran his large fingers through his hair in a mannerism that was distinctively Harry's. This did not go unnoticed by the others in the room. If he noticed the startled confusion, however, he said nothing, merely shifted Kirian into one arm as he spoke. 

 

 “The wolf extends our lives, heals the everyday wear and tear of life. It's what makes us able to suffer the change every month, protects us from things like the common cold. We'll live longer than even most wizards – Lupin will too, if he lets the wolf out, if he stops poisoning it with wolfsbane.”

 

 Tonks looked between him and Remus with wide eyes of royal purple. “If he stopped taking the wolfsbane, he would be healthy, strong again?” she asked, her voice hushed, as if she dared not hope. Everyone in the room knew where the tremor of fear stemmed from. As he was now, Remus would probably not live long enough to even see Teddy graduate from Hogwarts. Assuming there still _was_ a Hogwarts once this was all over.

 

 “If I stop taking the wolfsbane potion I will kill everyone in a frenzy so it is irrelevant!” Remus snapped. “I've felt the wolf as a human, uninhibited by wolfsbane. I'm a ravenous animal! I kill people!”

 

  _His uncle,_ Harry thought, imagining a horrified little Remus waking to find the carnage he had created. He winced, thinking of the cubs back at the den. They were a little out of control, but in the stable environment of the pack, they were kept under wraps. Adult wolves accustomed to the change weren't like that. At least they didn't have to be. He studied Fenrir's hard, unreadable expression. He had hurt him as the wolf, yes, but only when faced with a threat, only when that arsehole Weylyn purposefully put them in a situation where Fenrir's heightened instincts would react to the humans in Harry's presence.

 

 The memory of that night still made a shiver prickle at every nodule of his spine. But it did not haunt him, not any longer. He saw it for what it was. It didn't make a difference to how he felt about the wolfsbane potion or werewolves. Whether that was good or bad, he wasn't sure. It just felt right. Instinctually right. Fenrir had seen him afraid since, had seen him desperate for space as the wolf and had relented. In a safe, controlled environment under the moon, the pack was the safest place for Remus - for any wolf.

 

 “Malfoy is human and he's spent the full moon with the pack,” Harry said. It was important for Remus to understand before he made any decision. The decision couldn't be based on years of bias and fear alone. “He's still human,” he continued. “He wasn't hurt. In fact I've never seen the git happier.”

 Beside him, Ron snorted. “You’re not really selling it mate.”

 

 Harry sighed. “What I mean is, he's sort of…erm… _with_ one of the pack.” That was as much as he would admit about _that_ , he had no desire to _out_ Malfoy to them all. “He learned how to behave with us beforehand, how to act, how to be one of the pack–”

 

“‘ _Us”_?” Hermione whispered.

 

Harry winced. “Yeah. Werewolves don’t have to be mindless beasts – a lot of that is hype from the Ministry to justify their own crimes. The point is, the pack is probably the best place for you during the moon, Remus. And this is me telling you this – _me_. Trust me, alright? I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it.” He looked between Remus and Tonks, his chest aching at the thought of Tonks being left to raise Teddy alone when they had only just found each other. “When this is all over. Whatever happens, you need to try, Remus. If you could see them there – the families, the children. It’s like a paradise untouched by the rest of the world.”

 

His cheeks blazed when he realised everyone was staring at him and pulled Fenrir’s cloak a little tighter round him. “What you’re doing is killing you slowly, you know it is,” he said in a quiet, firm voice. “Please Remus. Just try it once. Teddy and Tonks can stay safely in the village nearby if you’d like the first time. But if Draco bloody Malfoy can survive a full moon with us then you can!”

 

Everything was silent for some time. Until Tonks lay a hand on her husband’s arm and the man sighed, weary and afraid. “You and Teddy will be nowhere near there if I do this,” he said, voice low and firm, as it had been that night Remus had taken the map from Harry years ago, the time when Harry had first mentioned Pettigrew's name in front of him. He focused on Harry then. “But only when _He_ is gone. Only when there are no bigger things to worry about. I will not risk my life when you still have need of me.”

 

 Tonks made a choking sound. “I'll always need you!” she insisted. “Teddy will always need you. That's why I think you should try this – at least try. It's a hope at least, hope for a life without pain. Isn't that what you want?” Her voice had never sounded so frantic. “To watch Teddy grow up? To grow old with me?”

 

 Remus stared at her, struggling for words, his lips moving soundlessly.

 

 “You won't die,” Harry said, simple and insistent. “You won't be hurt, Remus, I promise you. I wouldn't ask you to try if I wasn't completely sure it would work.” When those tired, murky green eyes fixed on Harry again, they were pensive, daring to hope. _Trust_. Harry felt his mouth go dry at the sight of such belief. He did not let his conviction falter.

 

 Remus reached up, still watching Harry and set his hand over Tonks'. “I trust you, Harry.”

 

 Harry swallowed thickly. This man looking at him with such platonic affection, such trust was the last connection to his parents. He was the last mentor or parental figure beyond the Weasleys. Harry could not fail him. “I trust Fenrir,” Harry said. “I trust the pack. You'll be alright, Remus. I swear it.”

 

 Slowly, Remus shook his head. “You take so much on yourself, Harry,” he sighed gently. “Just like your father. He had to make everything right. He had to save everyone, even a reclusive, scrawny little werewolf with no hope.” He smiled softly, the expression slightly less lined than usual. It was a mere hint of how the transformation could help him heal. “Alright,” Remus murmured. “Alright, Harry.”

 

 Tonks looked torn between relief and fear, her fingers tightening further on Remus' shoulder. When she looked on Harry, Fenrir and Kirian again, however, her expression seemed to clear. She didn't say anything, though Harry was forced to remember the countless insinuations he'd heard regarding Fenrir's feelings for him, that idea that he, Harry, though the submissive by nature was not submissive in their relationship. Even after all this time. Despite everything, Fenrir was the one who bent to ensure Harry's happiness. For some reason, the way Tonks looked at them both just then finally made him realise that.

 

  _Maybe because she is so relieved,_ Harry thought absently, _that Fenrir really isn't what everyone thought he was. That he'll do everything in his power for me, even if he doesn't always agree with it._ He smiled slightly before being tugged from his thoughts by Hermione's hasty offer of food. It was meant to diffuse the tension, he thought, as he'd had experience with her cooking and knew it was...dangerous at best. Ron quickly stepped up to the mark though, saving all their health, Harry thought.

 

 It was the oddest thing Harry had ever experienced, their entire unlikely group gathered around the table. Yet things were not strained. Fenrir, Lupa and Hemming mostly kept quiet, but it was an easy silence Harry had frequently experienced in the pack. Ron and Hermione bickered, Teddy delighted everyone by throwing most of his food all over himself and babbling nonsensically. It all felt very domestic, nice, like the calm before the storm. 

 

 Kirian was alert and mumbling quietly, watching Tonks change her face with awe, resting with his belly against Harry's. Every now and again, Fenrir would glance over with a soft look in his eyes, one that made Harry feel oddly shy and…warm. Kreacher appeared conveniently after to clear the plates and eyed Kirian eagerly. Harry let him watch and talk to him, but did not relinquish him. He couldn't. Not yet. He didn't think that was entirely because of his wolf instincts either.

 

 Those at the table dispersed after a while, until only Harry, Fenrir, Kirian, Lupa and Hemming remained. By unspoken agreement, they walked outside, sprawling on the patio and staring up at the now dark sky. Harry pulled the familiar fur cloak round him and Kirian, enjoying the breeze on his face. He closed his eyes, tired. It felt a little suffocating with the London smog covering the stars. He'd never really paid much attention to it before but since being turned – no,  _awakened_ , he supposed, he could see the sky with such precision that he felt bereft at the loss of the clear, stunning sky he used to see at the valley. He felt a chill ripple through his stomach.

 

 “You miss it,” Hemming said from where he lay on his elbows nearby, propped up as if sunbathing. “You miss the pack, the valley.”

 

 Harry stared. He didn't know why but he felt slightly embarrassed that he was so easy to read. Then he remembered that they were all finely attuned to his mood right now, with his… _giving birth,_ Fenrir especially so. Fenrir, who was lying next to him with an arm stretched out behind Harry, encircling him without touching. He was unusually pensive tonight.

 

 “Does that mean you're heading back once all this is over?” Lupa asked tentatively, “When you're…free? Of _Targarletum_ , that is.”

 

 Fenrir growled at the insinuation Harry would need to be free of him, but said nothing.

 

 “I don't know,” Harry said quietly. He couldn't see beyond Voldemort, his head swimming with possibilities and what he should do, for himself, for Kirian, what he _wanted_ to do. What did he want, even? He'd never felt so torn or lost. _You've never considered having a future or a family, but now you have both. You do not know what to do with either,_ his thoughts whispered in a voice that sounded uncannily like Dumbledore's. Dumbledore, who always knew what to do for the greater good. 

 

 “Others will be arriving tomorrow,” Fenrir said gruffly, sitting up straight and resting his arms on his knees. He stared out across the dark garden, clearly annoyed.

 

 Harry frowned. “Others?”

 

 “Earlier, we spoke with Echo,” Fenrir retorted sharply. “He, Marrok and a few others are heading out to us, to help.”

 

 “Who'll protect the pack?” Harry asked, panicked, even though he knew that what Hermione and Remus had done to get in could never be repeated.

 

 “Even if one of the pack offered up a handful of hair and blood for the same ritual your interfering humans use, we've strengthened the defences. _Targarletum_ himself couldn’t get in there now,” Fenrir grumbled, still not looking at him.

 

 Harry winced, stung by the recollection that, one way or another, the fact that the valley had been infiltrated was his fault. He set his teeth in frustration, annoyed at the pang of hurt. “If you're going to be a prick just because I'm bloody confused, I'll go inside and you can sleep out here alone,” he snapped.

 

 Fenrir's head snapped round to look at him so fast Harry swore he heard his neck crack. The alpha glowered. “You really think I'd leave the pack in danger? _No one_ can get through now. Lupin and the witch exploited a loophole that is now gone. There is no way in. They are safe and Echo, Marrok and the others are coming here to help us so we can get this over with and I can take you _home –_ where you _belong,_ ”Fenrir growled, rising to his feet. “I've been the alpha since before you were born. Whatever mistakes I've made, I've kept them safe. I know what I'm doing.”

 

 “Don't lord over me, Fenrir Greyback,” Harry growled back warningly. “I'm not a silly bitch who doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't talk down to me like I'm a child just because you're pissed off.” It didn't go unnoticed that Hemming and Lupa had retreated back inside out of the way. 

 

 “They're safe now, the pack, that's all you need to worry about,” Fenrir grumbled, still glaring at him as if he really wanted to say something much more colourful.

 

 Harry rolled his eyes. “That's all you had to say. You didn't have to flip like a stroppy teenager. You've got a worse temper than _me,_ ” he said, shifting a sleepy Kirian into the crook of his arm under the cloak. The boy started to suck at his chest half-heartedly, already halfway into slumber. Harry looked down through the small gap in the cloak to see that sleepy little face stretch in a yawn and smiled, anger dissipating from his veins like snowflakes on the ocean.

 

 When Harry looked up again, he nearly jumped when he found Fenrir crouched directly in front of him, leaning slightly forward on all fours to stare down at Kirian as well. Their faces were only a few centimetres apart. Harry inhaled sharply, _just_ managing to refrain from physically starting. Their eyes met. Those ice-blue eyes were dark, glistening with the few twinkling stars that managed to shine through from above. Harry sighed and leant forwards, butting their foreheads together lightly.

 

 “I just wanted to know everyone was safe,” he said quietly.

 

 Fenrir grumbled, not out of anger but the soft, reassuring rumble he'd used so many times before. He nudged Harry's head back, raising a hand to cup the back of his neck. “They're safe,” he repeated gruffly. “But even if they weren't, Echo and the others _have_ to come. _Targarletum_ needs to be dealt with or no one will be safe for long.”

 

 Harry nodded slowly, leaning his head back and allowing Fenrir's large hand to support his neck entirely, exposing his throat. But when Fenrir shifted, his lips didn't find his neck. His hand on that neck urged Harry's face back to him and he sought Harry's lips, smoothing their mouths together. They melted together in a slow, lazy pass of tongues and sighs. Harry kept one arm round Kirian, the other lifted up to loop around Fenrir's neck, holding him in their kiss longer, deeper.

 

 He felt Fenrir's fear, his apprehension bubbling at the edges of his mind, twisting in his own chest and kissed him all the more because of it. This strong, stupid man, incapable of voicing his emotions, he wasn't so different to Harry at all. Every time Harry felt him like this, being with him made just a little bit more sense. The fact that his wolf chose Fenrir made a little bit more sense. _We are one in the same,_ he thought, the wolf and him. He'd told Remus that himself after all.

 

 When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavier. Harry felt heat in the way he hadn't for a while swell within him. He was flushed and Fenrir's desire rippled between them in thick, heady waves.

 

 “Not now,” Fenrir growled, half-heartedly, his fingers caressing Harry's neck where they still held on. 

 

 Harry growled back softly, reproachfully and glanced around. Kirian was snoozing softly and continued to do so, even as Harry rose to his feet. He could feel Fenrir's eyes on him as he moved slowly to the large overgrown area just off the side of the patio, still within the protective wards but out of sight. It was a combination of wild bush and tree. Without even really contemplating what he was doing, Harry pushed in towards it and the leaves and branches receded, morphing and flowing until there was a generous sized hollow within, a protective den among the greenery.

 

 Sliding in, he twisted his free hand, magic urging one of the inner branches to coil up in a sturdy nest. He snuggled Kirian inside it, cloak and all and stared at him for a moment. His dark mop of hair was dishevelled, his chubby face calm and softly pink. Harry inhaled his calming, sweet baby scent and then glanced up to the entrance to the hollow, where Fenrir now crouched. 

 

 “We can't, Harry,” Fenrir rumbled softly.

 

 Harry's eyes were dark and shining in the diminutive light. “Yes,” he growled, crawling forward so that he was kneeling over Fenrir's lap when the man had edged inside. Fenrir's hand cupped the back of his neck again as Harry inclined his head, moving his head this way and that, so that his lips just _hovered_ over Fenrir's skin, his nose, his lips and chin. Harry's own hands slid down Fenrir's chest, nails grazing the flesh there.

 

 Fenrir tightened his grip on Harry's neck, not enough to hurt but enough to still him.

 

 Harry groaned, eyes fluttering, shaft hardening in his trousers, throbbing at the action.

 

 “Hmmm,” Fenrir mumbled appreciatively. Harry had never been quite so open, so sure of what he wanted before. Though his eyes were dark with arousal they were most definitely green. There were no forces at work here except acceptance and desire.

 

 “You were amazing today,” Fenrir confided huskily, nudging his chin up so he could inhale at his neck, ghost his lips over Harry's the way Harry was doing to him. “I…” Their eyes were closed and their lips almost touching. “I'm proud of you.” The undertones and the feelings rippling through their bond let Harry know exactly what he meant by that. Words he couldn’t say.

 

 Inspired by the admission, Harry whined urgently, rocking his hips as he reached between them, tugging open their trousers so that their hot, hard organs could kiss. They both gasped against each other's lips. “Too long,” Harry gasped, stroking both of their shafts hard and slow, squeezing at the top so that their foreskins grated deliciously together.

 

Fenrir gave a guttural groan, gripping Harry's hips, strong fingers digging into Harry's buttocks through his trousers, claws piercing the fabric. Harry grunted against his stubbly chin, grating his teeth over it, enjoying the rasp, biting gently. “Do it,” he muttered thickly, dragging his lips up along Fenrir’s jaw with wet, messy nips.

 

Obeying hungrily, Fenrir sank his claws in and tore the fabric away like paper, dragging it to pieces with one slow tug of his claws down Harry's hips and thighs – _just_ grazing the flesh underneath. The tattered fabric fell away as Harry shifted forward, smashing their lips back together, rising up as he did so, so that he was higher than Fenrir, pushing down to dominate their kiss, grinding their cocks together in his grasp, completely in control.

 

Fenrir’s cock spat a thick globule of pre-emission over the heads of both their pricks and Harry hummed against his mouth, spreading the sticky leak over both their slits, stroking a little faster. His arse bared, Harry pushed back with his hips just a fraction, pushing Fenrir’s hands back over his cheeks. Fenrir growled with feral lust, digging clawless fingers in and spreading his buttocks wide as he kneaded the toned flesh. He felt and tasted Harry's shuddering breath in his mouth at the cool lick of night air against his hole.

 

With a ragged gasp, Harry stroked their cocks faster, rocking back into Fenrir’s firm hands and forward into his own grasp, into Fenrir’s erection at the same time. Far too distracted now, Harry's mouth was just open and pliant, welcoming Fenrir’s firm lips and tongue. He let Fenrir do as he wished with his mouth as he rode the wave of ecstasy that was the undulating of his own hips.

 

Then Fenrir shifted his hands, still spreading and massaging those cheeks but so that his forefinger could glide across Harry's exposed, smooth hole. Harry cried out sharply, free hand knotting in Fenrir’s hair at his nape and tugging hard, enough to yank Fenrir’s mouth from his. Fenrir stared up at his flushed, lustful expression, his vivid green eyes and open, panting lips, red from his stubble.

 

“My whiskers burn you?” Fenrir asked, his own voice hoarse.

 

“I like it,” Harry said simply, embarrassed but unashamed.

 

A breathy chuckle left Fenrir’s lips. Harry was right; it’d been so long – it felt like it anyway. Like an eternity since they’d parted at the valley with Harry's belly still so full of their son. Fenrir let go of one of Harry's cheeks to slide his hand up over Harry's flat but still soft stomach. There was a light trail of hair there again now under his belly-button that led down to his pubes.

 

When Fenrir’s hand slid up, he found Harry's chest still bare of hair – as it had been since he’d fallen pregnant. Fenrir grinned devilishly, glancing down as he lifted his mate’s shirt up to see the dark trail. His face and neck were also vacant of stubble but the regrowth was encouraging – he knew it’d bothered Harry. He’d be back to ‘normal’ when he stopped feeding Kirian and the hormones had settled back into place.

 

“This why you’re being the dominating one in the furs?” he smirked, “your testosterone surging a bit?”

 

Harry growled in rough playfulness, the way Fenrir did to him when he was in wolf form and tugged Fenrir’s hair harder, eyes dancing, their lips close. He twisted at their cocks, a firm, steady rhythm and a wet flick of his thumb over their heads. “I’m an alpha too,” he said roughly.

 

Fenrir smirked, sliding his hand back down to spread Harry wide again, urging him to rock into his hips, back and forth, hard and slow, just right. “You are,” he agreed without reservation. “Finally realise what that means, do you?”

 

 

Harry returned his smile. “Starting to,” he mused, releasing Fenrir’s hair and sliding his hand down to caress at the mating mark he’d set on Fenrir’s skin, the one he’d all-but avoided since he’d put it there all those months ago. He stared at it with reverence, watching the flickers of moonlight from above dance across the otherworldly, iridescent scar.

 

He dragged his thumb over it, the way Fenrir did to him and two things happened at once. Fenrir tensed, growling low, cock drooling in Harry's hand while a feeling of disembodied pleasure rushed through Harry too. He felt Fenrir’s pleasure and his own at their connection. He gave a breathless, faint gasp and leant in to seal their lips again, slower this time, languid, wet and meaningful.

 

Fenrir broke the kiss to lick at his fingers, coat them with saliva. The second he dropped his hand to Harry's arse again, Harry's fingers tightened around his neck, pushing their mouths back together urgently. He rocked into his stroking hand and then back into Fenrir’s wet finger, which had begun to circle his twitching ring.

 

Harry released a hungry, light groan at the swift, constant caresses, round and round, flicking across his centre randomly to make him shudder, before circling again, spreading spittle across his bundle of nerves. It was so tight. They both knew the capacity of a werewolf body to heal but neither of them had realised it was _this_ good. That Harry would be healed so completely, so soon.

 

“Sensitive?” Fenrir asked teasingly when Harry jerked hard at the pressure of just the tip of Fenrir’s finger breaching him wetly.

 

“Fucker,” Harry grunted, laughing slightly through the insult and not stopping his rolling hips, his own erection leaking now, a tribute to his readiness.

 

“Take your shirt off,” Fenrir snapped, sinking his finger deeper – not quite enough to reach Harry's sensitive spot but enough to make him squirm eagerly. He hastily dragged his shirt off his head, tossing it to the side and taking hold of their cocks again, stroking faster now, their bodily fluids making soft slick sounds with each thrust.

 

Harry's skin was pale and tight in the flickers of moonlight that crept through the leaves and branches around them. His chest was hard and his stomach smooth. The light hair at his navel did something unexpectedly delicious to Fenrir’s expression and he grumbled appreciatively as he stroked it admiringly, sliding his hand round to Harry's back to pull him closer, close enough that Harry had to relinquish his hold on their cocks and grip his shoulders for support. Their erections slid wetly together, grinding into each other with a life of their own. Hard, hot flesh rubbed pressed against the other, coaxing pleasure to the swollen, pink tips.

 

“Holy shit,” Harry cried out, digging his fingers in Fenrir’s shoulders hard and pushing back just right to draw Fenrir’s finger against his prostate. It made his head roll back, his teeth grind together and his cock twitch against Fenrir’s between the slide of their taut bellies.

 

Fenrir snarled back in answering lust, tilting his head to flick his the point of his tongue over a hard nipple. Harry tensed and his lips moved soundlessly but before he could say anything, Fenrir dragged his finger back out of Harry's hole. He crooked it again to circle Harry’s hole with maddening strokes before dipping in to tease his special spot. Harry writhed at the repetitive teasing, in, out, circle, in. His prostate sent quivering pulses of molten arousal up his belly and to his throbbing, desperate cock. He gave a sound of choked, frustrated pleasure as Fenrir licked at his sensitive nipple again.

 

 

Knowing they were sensitive, Fenrir didn’t push his luck and he drew the other, unmolested tanned bud into his mouth, sucking softly until he tasted the short burst of sweet fluid. Harry gave a sound mixed between pleasure and humiliation and Fenrir chuckled, drawing back just enough to watch whiteness leak down, satisfied. “You smell so good when you’re embarrassed and horny.”

 

Harry flushed, digging his nails into Fenrir’s skin harder than usual in punishment but not stopping his undulating movements. He leant in, capturing Fenrir’s bottom lip with his teeth and grazing, sucking, before pushing his tongue inside for a demanding kiss that he took charge of once more. His actions merged so seamlessly between control and submissiveness. It made Fenrir growl against his tongue as he lashed it with his own, sliding the damp forefinger from his other hand inside Harry's soft hole. He pulled slightly, spreading Harry open and Harry convulsed, pushing his forehead against Fenrir’s and panting openly against his damp lips.

 

“Keep rubbing our cocks together,” Fenrir insisted, massaging Harry's favourite place with every inward thrust then spreading him with two fingers either side at every drag back. “You remember now, don’t you? You like it when I talk dirty to you.” He waited, letting their cocks squeeze together with Harry's urgent rocking a few more times before continuing. “I need to make you nice and juicy down here,” he tugged Harry open a little wider to punctuate his point, tasting Harry's ragged breath. “How d’you want me to do that, Alpha?”

 

Harry's eyes flew open to lock with his and he cupped the back of Fenrir’s neck, free hand reaching between them, unable to stop despite the awkward angle, squeezing both their erections urgently. “Fuck… I don’t… I _need–_ ”

 

“You need to be filled,” Fenrir growled, still holding him open but teasing at the taut ring with his second finger on one hand – it wasn’t quite wet enough to slide in but he felt Harry’s hot insides clenching in hungry anticipation. “But you want to be an alpha at the same time. You can have both at once, you always have.” He gave a snarl of lust and rolled backwards, flipping them both until Harry was kneeling over his face, his cock flushed and pulsing, balls tight and inches above Fenrir’s eyes while his hole twitched, empty above his lips.

 

“You’re gunna take what you want now. You’re going to fuck my mouth and you’re going to _make me_ taste you.”

Harry’s stomach, his cock, everything clenched and he groaned roughly, face burning but his erection harder than ever as Fenrir’s hot breath danced across his entrance. Two fingers slid in easily this time, spreading him open again for Fenrir’s tongue to flicker inside, tasting him deep, lathering his entrance with spittle and wet, dirty noises.

 

Harry’s hand flew down, grasping a handful of Fenrir’s hair, tugging, stroking, urging him to go deeper but stop at the same time. Unable to help himself, he rolled his hips, grinding his arse into Fenrir’s mouth and tongue, feeling his stubble between his cheeks, his spit coating his ring and insides. Glancing down his body, Harry saw those eyes bright, blue and open, staring up at him as he devoured his most private place. He jerked, free hand catching his own cock and fisting it hard, shifting his hips in sharp rocking motions to slide his cock against the part of Fenrir’s face between his thighs, not thinking, just taking and feeling Fenrir’s appreciative growl against his entrance as he did so.

 

After the first few jerking rolls of his hips he was pulling Fenrir’s head back by his hair, sliding his hardness up the length of his mate’s face to let him lap ravenously at his dripping entrance before sliding back down to begin again. He was humping his face and he didn’t care. It felt so good and Fenrir was making the kind of noises that made all the hairs on Harry’s body stand on end. He was so close.

 

“You like that?” Fenrir panted, “like fucking my face?”

 

Harry’s stomach quivered at that and he groaned back, leaning forward so he was hunched over in his urgent thrusts. When on a final thrust forward he felt four of Fenrir’s thick fingers slide in, wet and firm, flicking over his special spot until white-hot pleasure lapped at his senses, he pushed back into them, at the same time pushing his cock inside Fenrir’s mouth.

 

“Uh, bloody fucking h…” His words died as he sank balls deep into Fenrir’s throat, feeing the moist cavern suck firmly, tongue lapping at his flesh. He had both hands either side of Fenrir’s head now and digging into the ground for purchase. His release coiled tightly in his lower stomach, insistent and heavy, like pressure pushing at all boundaries of his innards, longing to burst out.

Harry’s eyes flew open at the exact moment he knew he was about to come. He let out a ragged gasp and reluctantly pulled back, cock swollen dark with blood and shiny with Fenrir’s spit. Harry drew in a few rough breaths before sliding down, capturing Fenrir’s mouth briefly. He relished in the feel of his cock pressed into the hard muscle of his mate’s stomach as Fenrir rocked up into his body, the two of them rutting together hard.

 

There were no words in that moment. Harry grazed Fenrir’s neck with his blunt teeth, biting and licking alternately, marking him the way Fenrir always did to him as he reached back, awkwardly aiming Fenrir’s heavy hardness against his slick, supple hole. His teeth found their way down Fenrir’s chest, hesitating only the briefest moment before grazing his tongue over a hard nipple, uncertain. Fenrir’s hand gripped the nape of his neck, squeezing harder and harder as Harry shifted back to take the swollen head of his prick into his arse.

 

With his trousers still on, open only enough for Harry to access his prick, Fenrir growled low in his throat, a guttural, animalistic sound. “Yeah that’s it, bite me, bite me and take my cock, that’s it…”

Harry’s eyes darted up to his face, cheeks burning as he caught the hard flesh between his teeth and bit gently. The heady groans from his own mouth vibrated through the bud as he swallowed Fenrir’s cock greedily. It was so hot, hard, unyielding and Harry bit a little harder in reflex, the sheer overwhelming, delicious feeling of being filled to bursting point stealing every logical thought. He rested his forehead against Fenrir’s collarbone and waited for a moment, eyes closed, nose buried in his hairy, hard chest as he waited for the rush of bliss to ease.

 

“There’s a nice filled hole,” Fenrir growled dirtily, reaching down to cup Harry’s arse cheeks, squeezing and massaging so that the hard shaft buried between them felt even more profound. Harry groaned softly, embarrassed and painfully aroused. Fenrir chuckled, tracing Harry’s taut ring with a finger around his own cock. “Did you forget how good it feels to be stretched open?”

 

Harry lifted his head just enough to look up into those glinting blue eyes, dilated with lust. “I forgot how dirty your mouth was,” he mused breathlessly, making Fenrir’s smirk broaden as he shifted his hips. He drew his cock back slowly, until Harry’s insides felt like they were loose and empty of meaning, hungry for his return.

 

As if reading his thoughts, Fenrir pulled his cheeks as wide as possible so that when he withdrew his cock, Harry’s hole stayed open. “Want it back, pet? Miss me?”

 

“Don’t be an arse,” Harry grunted, biting at the pectoral beneath his mouth and dragging a deep, appreciative hiss from his mate’s mouth. Fenrir slid back inside painfully slow, but when he withdrew again there was no waiting, no teasing remark. There was only the delicious sensation of Harry’s slick walls gripping that heated flesh as it slid in and out, slow and hard, only _just_ grazing the place inside him he most wanted pleasured.

 

Harry set his forearms in the dirt either side of Fenrir, keeping as much of their bodies touching as possible, keeping his own cock stimulated by the rolling plains of their stomach muscles with every thrust or jerk. He moaned in gratification. Everything was hot, sticky and wet, rolling like liquid over _everything_ , their bodies slicked with pre-come, sweat and spit.

 

“That’s it, move on it,” Fenrir grunted, unable to help his habit of dirty talk – truth be told, Harry would’ve missed it. Truth be told, Fenrir’s coarse, teasing bluntness was part of what made this theirs _._

 

Harry pushed back into the hard thrusts up, curling his hips at the end of each long, delicious drag to push his cock into Fenrir’s stomach and also send the head of Fenrir’s arousal grating heavily over his prostate. His own erection leaked heavily, so needy it almost hurt, poised on the precipice of explosion yet unable to make the last step over the edge.

 

“Take it now,” Harry gasped out, thighs burning, arse clenching wantonly, making debauched wet sounds when Fenrir’s thrusts sped up. He was carried by the frantic force of two more thrusts before being rolled roughly onto his hands and knees. He paused a moment, fingers digging into the ground but then Fenrir’s hands slid up his sides, one creeping back to push aside one of his cheeks while the other guided his prick back inside. Straight away it slipped over his nub of pleasure within and he sagged with relief to his shoulders in the dirt, any protest or memory of that full moon night long gone.

 

Fenrir growled appreciatively at the sight of him with his arse in the air, on blatant display. His fingers dug in Harry’s hips as he began the familiar push-pull of that impossible girth inside him. His other hand reached round to massage Harry’s leaking cock. It was always about his pleasure, even now, when Harry could sense Fenrir’s need for release burning bright and white behind his own eyes as potently as if it were his own. He felt it knot in his belly with his own desire and let out a low cry, pushing back hastily into every thrust. This was it, he was going to burst and he needed it now, needed to feel Fenrir filling him until there was no room for anything else.

 

He’d never felt this close to someone before, so perfectly knitted together, as seamlessly as night and day met in twilight. He didn’t know how he felt, what love was or what would happen when Voldemort fell, but he knew he would never find anything like this again.

 

Harry rolled his arse back ravenously. He was so close and gasped at the feel of Fenrir’s orgasm rushing through him, rippling down his neck and all down his spine to his tensed toes. The ecstasy burned a brand as vibrant as the full moon into him. Fenrir grasped the base of his throat, firm but gentle, tilting Harry’s head back and leaning over him so his torso met Harry’s back. His mouth caught the marked side of Harry’s neck as he spilled himself deep inside with sharp, hard thrusts.

 

Eyes closed, mouth open and not caring what he looked like, Harry’s soil-coated fingers reached up to cover Fenrir’s at his throat. He relished the act of wolfish intimacy, the trust and desire it implied at the same time as the other hand intwined with Fenrir’s around his cock, jerking it faster, harder. Fenrir’s rough thumb swept at the slit and Harry gave a deep snarl, spilling his scalding release across the earth below them.

 

They stayed that way for a long time, Fenrir’s body hunched over Harry’s, tongue and teeth bathing his mating mark between his fingers that still gripped Harry’s throat. He hummed appreciatively every time he felt Harry’s adam’s apple move when he swallowed. His hand kept stroking Harry’s softening cock, milking him dry as his own come pulsed in a slow, thick stream into Harry’s body.

 

“Nice,” Harry mumbled dazedly, relishing the contact for a moment before reaching down and wrapping his fingers around Fenrir’s wrist, stilling his movements when his cock became too sensitive. At this, Fenrir huffed in satisfaction against his skin and rolled onto his side, dragging Harry with him, maintaining the contact between their bodies.

 

Harry glanced up at the little nest he’d made and saw his little bludger sleeping soundly, before relaxing back into the body spooning against him. He smiled dazedly. “Who knew Fenrir Greyback liked post-sex cuddling,” he teased.

 

Fenrir snorted, pressing his nose into the nape of Harry’s neck and the hair just above. “I do like it when you’re cocky,” he grumbled back serenely, sticky hand sliding up Harry’s torso. Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste and flicked his fingers towards the sticky mess on his skin and Fenrir’s fingers. It vanished. His skin tingled slightly, as if licked by cool air.

 

“Your powers come so easily to you now,” Fenrir noted, tensing. Harry felt his mate’s unease stabbing at the fleshy place behind his own ribs. He slid his hand up to cover Fenrir’s where it rested against his flat belly.

 

“You don’t want me to be able to take care of myself?” he asked, voice slightly ragged from sex.

 

Fenrir sighed. “I don’t want you to think you’re invincible or that you don’t need help or…” _Or you don’t need me,_ Harry finished for him, startled at how easily he could read the insecurities that Fenrir tried to disguise with anger or grumpiness.

 

_I still need you,_ Harry thought. And, _I still want you._ Sex always brought emotions so close to the surface, especially when they could feel each other’s so clearly the closer they got. It just went to show that just because they had a direct connection to each other’s feelings, it didn’t mean that helped them understand each other any better –they’d had to work that out on their own. The hard way.

 

Not knowing how to put his feelings into words as always, Harry turned his head, straining his neck a little to bring his nose along the bridge of Fenrir’s He inhaled slowly. “I’m not any different just because I have my magic back,” he said quietly. “Just because I’m more… _confident._ I was still Harry when it looked like I’d swallowed a bludger and I’m still Harry now.”

 

Fenrir growled softly, pushing his nose back into Harry’s gently. “My Harry,” he murmured, with such rough, sincere affection that Harry shuddered with the intensity. “You’re cold,” Fenrir said, “let’s get you and Kirian back inside.” He didn’t move however and Harry didn’t want to.

 

“Just a few more minutes,” he murmured, wanting to stay in their private world for just a little longer, before they had to let everything else back in.

 

Harry must have dozed because the next time he opened his eyes, he was wrapped back up in Fenrir’s cloak with Fenrir sitting up next to him, Kirian babbling nonsensically in his arms. Harry blinked as he rolled over to watch the sight thoughtfully, light warmth filling his insides that were still fuzzy around the edges from orgasm and sleep.

 

“Fenrir?” he began. Those eyes flicked up to him, unguarded and soft in a way only Harry got to see them. He moistened his dry lips. “Fenrir, I think I–”

 

“Harry?” The soft call of Hermione’s voice called from outside the bushes. Harry stared at Fenrir for a moment, his train of thought and the moment lost. He gave a small, apologetic grimace and scrambled into his trousers and shirt as he edged toward the gap in the protective wall of branches and leaves.

 

“Hermione?” he called, sticking his head out into the early morning light. His hair, flushed face, the soreness to his mouth and the marks on his neck must’ve given away what they’d been doing because Hermione’s face flamed at the sight of him. She glanced at his stubble-scraped and kiss-bruised mouth briefly before remembering herself, meeting his eyes again.

 

“Harry, I…I’m sorry. I know it’s early but…well… The Weasleys are here. Molly, Arthur and…and Ginny. They’re asking for you.”

 

Harry froze. It felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Shit. He glanced back inside the hollow but could not make out Fenrir’s expression from this angle. He sighed and met Hermione’s gaze again. “Right,” he murmured. “I’ll…I’ll be in in a second.”

 

Hermione nodded, starting to turn away. She paused, glancing back at him uncertainly. “Harry you might...you might want to do something about your neck.” She winced. Harry flushed darkly.

 

“Yeah, thanks.” He tucked his head back inside and sat back on his heels, staring at the gap in the hedge, wondering what the hell he was going to do. He wasn’t ashamed of Fenrir or Kirian but the Weasleys… He hadn’t been prepared to face them, not yet, even if logically he should’ve guessed they’d be arriving with The Order planning on turning up soon. Pulling his knees up to his chest he sighed and rested his forehead on them, longing for the simplicity of a few hours ago.

 

“You’re worried about what they’ll think of you,” Fenrir grumbled, drawing Harry’s head up and in his direction. Fenrir’s face was unreadable, even as Kirian wriggled in his arms.

 

“No. Yes. Not really it’s just I…” he sighed, flopping onto his back and staring up at the canopy of leaves. “We’re about to go into battle, I don’t want the last thing I share with them to be a row.”

 

Fenrir shifted beside him, laying a wriggly Kirian face-down on Harry’s chest. Harry felt comforted by the warmth and wondered if that was why Fenrir had set him down there, as his hand came up to rest on Kirian’s back. Fenrir sat back slightly, watching them both with an uncharacteristically pensive expression. The look quickly turned to one of irritation.

 

“I can’t fix this for you,” he griped, staring in the direction of the entrance. “I don’t like it.”

 

Harry couldn’t help it, the sheer bluntness of that statement made him smile. Supporting Kirian on his chest with one hand he reached out across the dirt and flicked Fenrir’s nearby knee. A scowl of annoyance was turned his way, so Fenrir that it only intensified his grin.

 

“What are you giving me such a shit-eating grin for?” Fenrir grumbled.

 

“Nothing,” Harry said, brightened, sitting up slowly and running a hand through his dishevelled hair in an attempt to calm it. “I’m going in, then,” he said, edging toward the entrance when Fenrir didn’t look as if he was moving.

 

“C’mere,” the alpha said gruffly, moving forward on his knees to grip Harry’s chin, pulling him so their lips were only a hairsbreadth apart. Instead of the expected kiss, however, Fenrir’s tongue darted out, shocking a surprised gasp from him as Fenrir lapped at his swollen lips. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, breath dancing out into Fenrir’s mouth as he licked his sensitive skin, until all the redness was gone.

 

When Fenrir drew back enough that Harry could breathe again, Harry’s eyes opened and he stared into pools of brightest blue. Without thinking, he flicked his own tongue out to lick quickly at Fenrir’s own mouth and saw the intensity in his mate’s face ebb away.

 

Harry carried the warmth from that moment all the way into Grimmauld Place’s kitchen, where Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Ron Hermione and Remus were all gathered around the table. Hemming and Lupa stepped out just as he stepped in and Harry gave them an appreciative smile, grateful that they seemed to know Fenrir needed them as a distraction for the moment.

 

As the door closed behind him, he hefted Kirian up in one arm and approached the table, watching, _feeling_ all of their gazes fix on him, like little electric sparks. Remus, Ron and Hermione looked apprehensive, Mr and Mrs Weasley simply shocked and Ginny, her face was fixed, hard, as if she dared not even blink.

 

“It’s nice to see you all,” he said weakly, taking a seat at the end of the table, Ron and Hermione on one side of him and Remus on the other. He was glad to see them alive and well after months of not knowing. Glad yet uneasy all the same.

 

“Hermione and me sort of gave them the run down, mate,” Ron said, his voice breaking the awkward silence that had fallen.

 

Harry nodded appreciatively, taking a small breath. “So you know then – about Fenrir, about–”

 

“ _Fenrir_?” Mr Weasley repeated slowly in horrified awe. “I… Harry, that is Fenrir Greyback’s child, isn’t it? Your child? Ron, Hermione and Remus have tried to explain everything of course but…” He stared at the baby in Harry’s arms for a moment, gobsmacked, then he leant forwards on his elbows. “So it’s really true then? That Fenrir Greyback is completely different to what we all knew? Just like Severus?”

 

Harry swallowed. He’d never thought about it like that but he supposed that was right. Just like Snape, Fenrir had been stuck with an image of him painted by rumour, circumstance, enemies and at times enforced by his own hand out of necessity. But they were both good. They were not what they seemed. Perhaps that was why Snape had seemed to so readily accept what had happened between them? That Fenrir wasn’t a child-eating monster…

 

“He’s a good man, Mr Weasley,” he said in the end, smiling slightly, dragging his bottom lip under his teeth inside his mouth in apprehension and tasting Fenrir’s tongue. “I know what the world thinks about him but they’re wrong.”

 

Mr Weasley sat back, evidently winded from shock but still watching him with awe rather than anger or concern. He glanced to Remus. “Yes, Remus said as much. Honestly, if Greyback has convinced _him_ of all people then it must be true but…” He swept his hand up over his forehead, lifting his hat and scratching at his balding head. “Harry so much has happened since we last saw you – we were so worried! It’s a lot to take in.”

 

Harry winced. “I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve let you know what was happening somehow – I should’ve found a way but owls weren’t safe and I didn’t have a wand and… Like you say, a lot has been happening. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m safe, I’m fine, I…” He glanced to Ginny and Mrs Weasley, who were uncharacteristically silent. “Fenrir protected me, he got me away from Vol – _Him._ ”

 

“In exchange for bearing his offspring?” Ginny asked, her voice quiet and hoarse, so unlike her.

 

“No that was…” He glanced down at Kirian, who was sucking on his dummy and staring at a part of Harry’s fur cloak he could see, knotting his tiny fingers in it. It seemed wrong to call him an ‘accident’. “That was unexpected by both of us,” Harry said, “He was only born a few days ago.”

 

Ginny said nothing but Mrs Weasley was beside herself, her eyes sparkling with tears. She clutched at a handkerchief on the tabletop and stared meaningfully at him. “Oh, Harry, but you’re so _young_. You’re a father now and a werewolf and there’s a war resting on your shoulders and…” Her tears did escape then, trailing down her cheeks in thick, heavy rivulets. She dabbed at them quickly, ineffectively, because more followed.

 

“Oh, Harry – it isn’t fair. You’re only eighteen – you’ve had no chance to live for yourself and now all these things are being put on you and after that awful life you had with those muggles…” She drew in a sharp breath, her words all rambling together. “You’re so used to just making the best of a bad situation but you deserve _better_ than that. You deserve to be happy with someone who loves you and not someone forced on you by circumstance!”

 

Kirian mewled unhappily at her hysterical tone and she blinked, seemingly just remembering the baby in the room. Harry gave her a tiny, uncertain smile and looked down to his little bludger, turning him slightly in his arm so that he was resting against his knee, facing them all a bit more.

 

“I think that Mr Greyback does love Harry, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said after a moment, staring meaningfully at Kirian. “If you see them together, when they think no one else notices – it’s just… _obvious_.”

 

Harry flushed, wondering exactly what she was talking about but not willing to argue, not able to. Not wanting to. Everyone kept saying that Fenrir was infatuated with him and the thought that that might be true made him feel a little…

 

“…I don’t think age matters,” Mrs Weasley was saying, effectively bringing Harry back into the conversation that apparently had continued even while his brain was absent. “Not when you’re older, but when one if you is only just a man and the other is–”

 

“I know that you are worried, Molly,” Remus said, surprising everyone at the table with his interjection. “But Harry is not a boy. I don’t think he has been one for a very long time.” His eyes were sad but his face looked proud. The sight of it rendered Harry speechless. Remus looked on him and Kirian thoughtfully before focussing on the Weasleys. “We have to trust him to know what’s best for himself. If he is wrong then, well, we will be here to help him.”

 

Harry didn’t consider himself a particularly emotional person; he’d purposefully grown up steeling himself against the softer emotions as a rule of survival. But right now, hearing Remus’ belief in him, hearing his words, knowing what a difference his support made to the Weasleys’ opinion of him and Fenrir, it made a rush of feeling clog in his throat.

 

His own breathing felt heavy and he cleared his throat roughly, dropping his eyes to Kirian in an attempt to hide the emotion touching his face. Not only because Ron, Hermione and Remus were supporting him and Fenrir, but because they were standing by him, doing so in spite of any reservations – because they believed in him.

 

It felt good and hurt all at once.

 

Kirian cooed quietly, staring up at Harry with big green eyes. _It’s your fault I’m soft,_ he thought without malice. _I swear I wasn’t such a wuss before I had you._ That wasn’t strictly true but since Kirian, he’d certainly felt more able to understand the raging tide of feelings that plagued him every day. Everything except what he felt for Fenrir. He frowned, wondering if he’d ever have an answer to that as he slid his thumb into one of Kirian’s tiny fists.

 

“So that’s it?” Ginny whispered, her voice cutting through the soft talk that had continued while Harry had been lost in thought. Everyone looked at her now. She looked wounded but also concerned and Harry ached.

 

“Gin,” he began, but Ginny was already on her feet.

 

“That's just it? You're all just going to accept this? Let Harry ruin his life for some… _relationship_ that happened just because they were stuck together for a few months? Harry,” she said, distressed and earnest as she stared at him. “What you have with Greyback, it can't be healthy. It can't be right.”

 

“Gin,” Ron said, “you're not the one to decide what's right for him. None of us are.” Everyone stared at Ron, apparently startled by the most mature words he’d ever uttered. He looked sheepish, ears turning slightly red and Harry smiled at him, appreciating his support. The last year had changed Ron – he’d abandoned him and Hermione once before when they’d needed him most and he wasn’t going to do it again, Harry could see that determination on his face.

 

_I’ve got your back, mate,_ he imagined Ron saying as his best friend stared right back at him. _Even if I don’t understand._ It was his understanding, him, Remus and Hermione that was making this so much easier for everyone else to accept. It made Harry feel like he wasn’t alone in facing the world, just for finding someone who… He paused. Someone who…

 

“But you never even liked boys before,” Ginny said, almost pleadingly.

 

_Fenrir isn’t a boy,_ Harry almost said, but he didn’t think that’d help the situation. He sighed. “Ginny,” he tried, “We should talk somewhere more private.” If things were going to get personal, he thought she’d appreciate some privacy – _he_ certainly would. But she had that look on her face, the one of flushed indignation and worried stubbornness and he knew that wouldn’t happen. He sighed. “I liked girls well enough but it was never…never like it is with him. It fits. It feels right.”

 

She winced as if slapped. She’d heard _it was never like this with you,_ Harry knew she had but he couldn’t put it any less plainly if he hoped for her to understand. For all of them to understand. “Because of these werewolf genes he’s awoken in you – not because that’s what you chose for yourself.”

 

“The werewolf and me are the same,” Harry said tiredly. “It _is_ me. When the instincts take over, it’s my emotions and my desires that come to the front. You don’t think I had all these doubts myself? That I didn’t fight it every step of the way? I know it’s a shock, I know it’s hard but I’ve realised now this is who I am. I’ve never felt more…” His face twisted thoughtfully as he tried to think of a word. “I never knew myself before. Now I do. I don’t expect you to get that right away but I expect you to believe me when I say that I know who I am now.”

 

Ginny stared at him, eyes far too bright and shiny in the lights of the kitchen. Kirian grizzled sleepily, pawing at his chest. Harry captured his hand and held it tight. He knew somehow, _instinctively_ knew Kirian wasn’t hungry, that is just comfort he wanted feeding for. That fact, the realisation that for once he just _knew_ what Kirian wanted made him feel more confident, able to face Ginny with unwavering patience.

 

He knew it must be hard for her to see him like this, with another man, with a child when she’d probably been waiting for him all this time – despite their break up. His chest ached at her palpable misery and he felt sick at the thought that he was the cause of it. Part of him had once even thought they would get back together, if they ever survived this, back during all those nights in the tent with Hermione and Ron, before he’d met Fenrir.

 

“Things should’ve been different,” she whispered, voice hoarse with emotion, quavering on the last word.

 

He thought of the longing he’d felt staring at her tiny dot on the Marauder’s Map, the feeling that was like homesickness. Perhaps things could’ve been different between them. Perhaps in other circumstances he would’ve been sat in this chair a few years later with her child in his arms. That was what was hurting her most, he supposed. But as Harry felt a prickle of awareness creep up the back of his neck, felt Fenrir approaching the door even before he opened it and stepped inside slowly, Harry felt something that he had never felt with Ginny.

 

“They might’ve been,” he admitted, not turning to face Fenrir, though everyone else at the table had, staring over Harry at the man looming in the doorway. “But they’re not. I’m sorry, Gin.” Not for himself, but for her.

 

A long, silent moment hung in the air, heavy with emotion and pain. Harry felt Fenrir’s uncharacteristic uncertainty pulse through his own stomach and after a moment, Kirian grizzled again. Harry thought he saw him trying to look over his shoulder toward where he could smell Fenrir. Either way, the sound made Fenrir step closer. Harry tensed, wondering how everyone gathered around would react to seeing Fenrir with him in the flesh. When he felt his mate at his back however, he saw only curiosity and apprehension in the eyes of his friends – his family. Except Ginny, who stared at them both, hurt. She turned, fleeing up the stairs and out of sight. Harry felt pain lance his chest and ached to call after her, but knew he couldn’t say or do anything to make it better. Not when he was the cause.

 

Fenrir’s hand came to rest on the back of his chair, knuckles discreetly caressing his back through his clothes. Harry relaxed back into it, looking at Mr and Mrs Weasley, waiting for some sort of reaction. Mr Weasley just looked uncomfortable, not knowing what to say, whereas Mrs Weasley seemed to be assessing him carefully. After a long time she brought the teacup in front of her to her lips. “You have a lot more colour to your cheeks than I’ve ever seen you,” she said. The lightness to her tone was slightly forced but Harry smiled nonetheless. He knew this was her way of trying. “And you have a lot more weight on you. Mr Greyback is obviously feeding you up.”

 

Behind him, Fenrir gave a short bark of a laugh under his breath. Harry flushed. Hearing Molly Weasley talk about his health and how Fenrir Greyback was looking after him was probably the most surreal thing he would ever hear. He had to blink a few times to make sure he was definitely still in the conscious world. He swallowed. This felt very odd.

 

“I must say you look very well for someone who’s just given birth too. Even if he is tiny, it’s still a harrowing experience,” she continued, her words making Harry’s face twitch with discomfiture, but he forced a smile through it, not wanting her to see his displeasure at the use of the word. It wouldn’t help, not when she was honestly trying. “Fleur took a long time to recover from Victoire’s birth,” she said wistfully, reminding Harry that of course there had been three wartime babies in their peculiar extended family.

 

“Werewolf healing abilities make things easier,” Harry said, “Are Fleur and the baby alright?” He listened to Mrs Weasley’s animated reply on the health of all her children and grandchild, hearing her voice become easier, less strained as she spoke. Mr Weasley offered up a few agreeable statements, his eyes on Fenrir the whole time, seeming thoughtful.

 

As the conversation continued, Harry felt Fenrir’s knuckles stroke him reassuringly and he pushed back, grateful for his presence, aware of how hard it must be to stand there under scrutiny and judgement of wizards. Beside him, Remus was watching him with a far-off look in his eyes, as if he was just realising something. Harry wondered what it was, especially if Remus had stood up for him and Fenrir.

 

“Harry,” Fenrir said then, startling him from his thoughts and also the light conversation at the table into silence. His name sounded odd on Fenrir’s tongue at that moment and Harry twisted in his seat to look up at him, confused. Those two syllables sounded so tentative, with Fenrir’s gravel-rough voice reaching deep into his chest, filling it with warmth that only bloomed further at the determined look in his eyes.

 

_He’s doing this for me, even though he’s uncomfortable,_ Harry thought, _even though it goes against everything he stands for. Everything he experienced with his family and pack dying and…_

 

“Why don’t you let them hold Kirian?” Fenrir continued. Mr Weasley let out a little startled, hysteric laugh which he quickly hid in his tea. Harry blinked. His own instincts growled in negation but he could feel Fenrir’s roaring unwillingly in his chest as well. Harry knew why _he_ wanted to stamp down his own wolf to let his family, the closest two people he had to parents bond with his son, but for Fenrir to do so…

 

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips, looking down at Kirian, who was content now with them both near, blinking up at him with a stern little expression. The thought of handing his baby over into someone else’s arms made him feel nauseous. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat though, looking up to Fenrir again. A saying about not being able to build bridges without getting a bit wet bubbled brokenly at the back of his mind. It was just out of his reach, though he knew he couldn’t expect everyone to step into the river and get their feet wet without him at least meeting them half way.

 

Steeling himself against the grumbling beast that wanted to sink its claws into his little bludger and not let him go, Harry offered Kirian up into Fenrir’s arms. Probably the most precious olive branch they could offer. He watched with unease as his cub was carried away from him, sickening nausea rippling through his belly. He knew that Ron, Hermione and Remus, who understood the significance of what he had done, were watching him closely but he couldn’t take his eyes off Kirian.

 

Fenrir came to a halt next to Mr and Mrs Weasley, who like everyone seemed dwarfed by Fenrir’s immense stature. It was quite a sight, him standing next to the people from his past, _trying,_ acting against everything he’d ever known – all for him. Fenrir glanced briefly to Mrs Weasley a final time, as if assessing her trustworthiness before passing Kirian into her capable arms.

 

Kirian wriggled, blinking up at her, sniffing deeply, as if trying to assess if she was pack. He didn’t cry but he did stare up at her in consideration.

 

“If he isn’t the spit of you, Harry,” Mr Weasley said, leaning over Mrs Weasley to look into Kirian’s curious expression.

 

Harry looked to Fenrir and saw that he was more than happy with that assessment. He wasn’t smiling or even particularly soft in his expression but he definitely looked proud. Harry’s insides calmed a little. Mrs Weasley was making cooing baby noises at Kirian, who kicked his feet in interest but couldn’t manage a smile yet. Still he smelled pleased.

 

“…such a lovely boy,” Mrs Weasley was saying, bouncing him slightly. Kirian gurgled, sucking his dummy contentedly. She sighed in a light, resigned manner. “I suppose nothing inherently bad could make something so good,” she said, glancing up to Fenrir. “Harry is healthier than I’ve ever seen him.”

 

Fenrir met her gaze levelly, giving nothing away.

 

“He is still very young,” she said carefully.

 

“He is,” Fenrir grunted.

 

Harry shifted in his chair, lips parting to protest that he was also still very _here_ but Remus’ hand on his forearm stopped him. The fact that his touch didn’t make Harry jump back on instinct only further proved how much had changed since their earlier altercation. Remus felt like pack, he smelled like it too.

 

“He’s so young,” Mrs Weasley continued, “And you are–”

 

“Old enough,” Fenrir replied, his voice gruff but with the usual coarse charm that made a smirk twitch at the corners of Harry’s mouth. He watched with rapt attention as Mrs Weasley passed Kirian half-heartedly back to Fenrir when he started to fuss. Harry saw the exact moment when Mr and Mrs Weasley realised that Fenrir was no more a monster than Remus, Bill or Harry – in spite of everything. It was the moment when Fenrir pulled Kirian into one arm and just for a fleeting second, looked down at him as if he were the centre of the universe.

 

“Ginny will be alright, Harry,” Mr Weasley said as Kirian was slipped back into Harry’s arms and Remus started another pot of tea. “It’s just a shock, unexpected, you know?”

 

Harry nodded tightly. “I know,” he said, “I appreciate you making the effort to understand.” Even if the man standing at his back was the reason their son had been mauled. It was a tribute to their love for him, Harry thought. Even if Remus, Ron and Hermione had ensured they understood what had happened to Bill was an honest accident, a misunderstanding it didn’t take away the results that Bill had to live with all his life.

 

“It’ll be alright, my boy,” Mrs Weasley said, her voice tired but as warm and welcoming as the first day he’d met her. “We’re family. ‘Til the end.”

 

Harry glanced at the door Ginny had vanished through with a pensive sadness in his chest, despite the warmth of the conversation now spreading through the room once more and Fenrir standing at his back again. Not everything could be fixed in one night, he knew that. The Weasleys had a long way to go before they could accept that the man that had scarred their son wasn’t a monster. Was the father of his child. But it was a start.

 

When Mr and Mrs Weasley eventually rose to go find their daughter, Harry was surprised when Fenrir leant down to breathe in Harry’s ear, “He’s their son – that ginger boy.”

 

Harry drew in a sharp breath, because he knew that Fenrir didn’t mean Ron. He just knew what he meant. “Yes,” he said, uncertainly, not knowing where this was going.

 

Fenrir made a low grumbling sound of understanding under his breath and straightened.

 

“Where are you going?” Harry asked with a frown, watching Fenrir cross the room in the direction of the stairs up out of the kitchen. The way Mr and Mrs Weasley had exited. Fenrir just gave him that look, the one he’d given Harry that night he’d sent Hemming and Lupa to his friends, the night he’d promised to give Harry everything. Then he was gone, ascending the stairs and out of sight.

 

Harry sagged back in his chair, stunned. It was hard to reconcile this bitter, coarse man with the brute he’d woken up to at that fireside all those months ago, absolutely starkers. They had come so far since then, both of them had grown so much and Harry wondered, not for the first or last time, what would happen if they all survived this.

 

Could he really come back to the wizarding world and live a life without Fenrir? Pretend Fenrir wasn’t probably the only person he’d ever felt like… _this_ with? Whatever _this_ was? His head hurt. He had no idea what to do or what these feelings were – or how to deal with them.

 

“Whatever his faults,” Hermione whispered thoughtfully, staring at the doorway. “He wants to do everything he can to make you comfortable.” She turned her knowing gaze on Harry and reached out to rest her soft hand on his wrist. “But only you can know what you feel, Harry.”

 

Harry stared at her. In truth, he didn’t know what he felt either.

 

“More tea?” Remus offered helpfully, effectively saving Harry from the question that he had no answer to.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	22. Hard Truths

A/N: Echo's surname is mentioned in this chapter: Bayard - pronounced 'Bay' as in the type of beach and 'ud' with the 'u' said as in 'up' but with a 'd'. It is of French origin, and the meaning of Bayard is "auburn-haired" to match Echo’s tawny wolf coat.

Hope you all had a lovely Christmas :) I'm just curious by the way - what are things you guys all want to see before the end of the story?

 

Thanks again for sticking with me this far, hope you're still all enjoying it ^_^

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

.: Chapter Twenty-Two :.

Hard Truths

 

 

Harry groaned in relief as his human body finished merging back from that of the wolf. He sagged forward onto his hands and knees, pulling the fur cloak around his naked body with one hand and forcing himself to lift his head to double check that Kirian was still sleeping soundly. He was.

 

It had taken more effort to hand him over to Kreacher than it had to attempt the transformation for the fourth time that morning. Kreacher looked so uncharacteristically happy though, euphoric and more reminiscent of Dobby than his old self. He’d been positively jubilant when Harry had reluctantly called him to watch Kirian while he transformed. He hadn't been required to do much except rock the newly transfigured bouncer when the infant stirred, but he was watching him with huge, round, glistening eyes and such a soft expression that Harry felt a bit less concerned about the elf taking charge.

 

Kreacher had been helping him since he'd arrived without making his presence known, doing what Harry needed without him even needing to ask. He'd been longing for this, to be allowed close to Kirian. Harry watched them now, remembering how much happier Kreacher had been in the days before he, Ron and Hermione had been forced away from Grimmauld Place. It seemed that Kirian's presence had made the elf's rehabilitation complete and Harry wondered if this was what the elf had been like before he'd lost Regulus...

 

“It's no mean feat that you can trust another with him you know,” Hermione said from where she sat on the patio near to Kirian, her eyes roving the pages of the book she was reading. Ron was sprawled out beside her, watching Harry's attempts to transform at will with a brow furrowed in concern. They and Fenrir were all outside in the garden, making the most of the space and the fresh air since this would be where their new visitors would be arriving anyway. Remus and Hemming had both vanished to retrieve their entourage and were expected shortly.

 

Harry shrugged, pushing himself back to a more respectable seating position, sweaty and panting for breath still. Fenrir was crouched beside him, watching silently. He knew how much it took to let Kirian out of his arms for even a second.

 

“The pack have been known to share babysitting duties but not until some time after the cub is born,” Hermione continued, “that you can let him be so much as a foot away from you is a tribute to your strength of mind.”

 

Harry snorted. Somehow, he thought Snape at least might disagree about his strength of mind.

 

“Kreacher cannot hurt young master even if he is being a bad elf and wanting to!” Kreacher declared in his ragged, croaked tone. He looked back to a sleeping Kirian adoringly. “It is being built into the elves' being! We cannot hurt children, not even under pain of death!”

 

Harry gave Kreacher a crooked smile. He'd heard this speech when he'd first called Kreacher to take this task, with the elf prostrated in uncharacteristic gratitude at his feet. In was quite…sweet, in Kreacher terms anyway.

 

“I know you wouldn't hurt him, Kreacher,” Harry said, speaking the truth. He just knew, even if his instincts disagreed. Kreacher blinked at him with a mixture of relief and pride, then turned back to Kirian, watching for so much as an out of place breath. Harry smiled warmly.

 

The instincts bubbling in his belly like acid were easier to control for some reason with him flickering in and out of transformation. It was as if the more control he gained over his wolf body, the more he gained over himself as a whole. This morning before he'd allowed Kreacher to watch him, he'd even been able to watch Hermione hold him with the happiness far outweighing the unease.

 

“Your wolf most likely sees them as pack now anyway,” Fenrir grunted.

 

Ron shifted uneasily, still not entirely comfortable with Fenrir – Harry supposed he could understand that.

 

“Is that some wolf way of saying we're like family?” Ron asked, bemused.

 

Harry smiled in answer, then looked back to Fenrir. “Who exactly is coming this morning?” he asked, his breathing a little more even now, his heart rate settling back down. They'd made a sort of routine now. Transform, rest, wait, transform back, rest, wait. It was still easier to 'rest' as a human than a wolf, it was still a struggle to hold the wolf form but he could at least move while a wolf now, rather than lay there and grit his teeth against the retreat. He had to be able to move more freely as the wolf when Kirian wasn't in danger right in front of his eyes or this wouldn't work.

 

“Your Lupin is bringing half the Order, s'far as I've heard,” Fenrir grumbled, clearly annoyed at the idea. Harry wondered if any of the older members were involved in the culling of the wolves, some of them weren't overly fond of Remus after all. He hoped that wasn't the case. He didn't think it was. Probably just Fenrir being his usual anti-wizard self. Harry smirked, wondering when Fenrir's sociopathic nature had become endearing to him.

 

“Out of our lot, Hemming's bringing Echo, Marrok, Raquelle, Larentia and Malfoy.”

 

“Malfoy counts as one of your lot?” Ron choked. Harry had told them how Malfoy had come to join them in the valley, although he had omitted how close Malfoy and he had gotten. He flushed as he recalled the hazy memory of inviting Malfoy into his den of furs when he'd been in labour. Oh, Merlin, he hoped Malfoy wouldn't bring that up; he might just die of mortification.

 

“They'll be here any time now,” Fenrir continued, “and you need as much practice as you can get. Again, come on.”

 

“Perhaps he should have a rest?” Hermione suggested, worrying her lip as she peered up from her book, still hesitant about Fenrir but unable to hold in her opinion, Harry thought. He smiled breathlessly in her direction. He'd missed her and Ron so much. No matter how much had happened since he'd been taken, this closeness would never fade.

 

 _“We're like…I don't know…triplets or something,”_ he'd tried to explain to Fenrir earlier, tried to make him understand how important they were to him before they'd ventured back in for breakfast that morning. _“We have this bond. It's always been the three of us. They're like my family, my pack, alright?”_ At least Fenrir seemed to have understood that comparison. He'd been making an effort at least.

 

“He can handle it,” Fenrir replied gruffly, eyes flicking to Harry, who gave him a small smile in answer to his confidence. Fenrir who Harry thought had apologised to the Weasleys for scarring their son, though he wasn’t one hundred percent sure – he hadn’t had chance to ask Mr or Mrs Weasley yet. Fenrir who wanted to protect him, wanted him to be safe but didn't treat him like a child.

 

 _Alpha Numero_ , Harry thought distantly. His equal.

 

“He's just given birth!” Hermione choked.

 

“I heal fast, Hermione, really,” Harry assured her. “Werewolf, remember? Besides…” He looked to Kirian, who was sucking happily at his dummy, content and oblivious to the troubles of the world. Harry might not have wanted him at first or understood what a monumental responsibility he would be, but he did now. He loved him more than anything and would give everything to keep him from the kind of life he himself had lived.

 

“I don't have a choice,” he continued. “I have to finish him or this war will go on until everyone I care about is dead or worse. I can't allow that, I couldn't…” He couldn't let anyone else die because of him. “I need to do everything I can to prepare myself,” he finished, shrugging the cloak off as his body began to crack with the shift.

 

He grit his teeth against the grunt of pain that tried to escape. It still hurt, still made his body rush with adrenaline and panic but his instincts weren't in control now when his body changed. It was definitely becoming easier to summon the shift; he just had to hold it now. Fenrir's eyes stayed riveted to his the whole time, unconcerned but firm. He knew Harry could do it, he wouldn't be so calmly accepting of his decision to move headlong into the fray if he didn't. Harry just hoped he could live up to that confidence.

 

 

Harry knew the moment that Malfoy and the others arrived. His head shot up from where he lay crouched on the grass, human at the moment and panting under the cover of the cloak once more. There was no breeze but their scents carried across the grass to him and he saw the bushes part as Malfoy scrambled through first, closely followed by Echo, Hemming, Marrok, Raquelle and Larentia. They all looked immediately to him, evidently remembering the last time they had seen him in the throng of battle.

 

With a mixture of satisfaction and horror, Harry saw Malfoy blush and then lift his chin as if in defiance of it, approaching first. Harry staggered to his feet, his body still ringing with the ache of pain from the change. “Alright, Malfoy?” he asked.

 

The blond frowned. “Ecstatic, Potter. I got my head bashed in for you, you know,” Malfoy drawled. He seemed perfectly fine, however, which Harry supposed meant Echo had healed the wound for him. How long had it been since the battle now? Since he'd last seen the valley?

Harry smirked. “Yeah, thanks.” He felt awkward but still no less relieved to see the git, to see all of them. He smiled over Malfoy's shoulder at the others as they came to stand before him. Harry felt the tension from Ron and Hermione, clearly uncertain while Fenrir moved forward to greet each of the pack members, his large fists clapping the backs of their necks in silent thanks that they had come when he needed them most. Raquelle and Larentia bowed their heads quickly, Raquelle with a smile, Marrok and Echo both clasped Fenrir's forearm in their own reassurance. They would be here until the end, one way or another.

 

Raquelle barrelled forward and wrapped Harry in a tight embrace, no restraint shown and Harry let out a grunt of surprise as she slammed into him. “So worried, we all were,” she gushed, pulling back to scan his face carefully. Harry smiled sheepishly. He'd known for some time that he was important to them all, if he hadn't before then watching them all stand firm to protect him in the face of chaos at the valley would have proven it. What he hadn't bargained on was how much he cared about them.

 

“I'm sorry I worried you,” he said, feeling emotion clench in his chest. He glanced up just in time for Echo to clap him on the shoulder and squeeze, for Marrok to beam at him with dark, glistening eyes and take his Harry's hand in both of his own large dark ones. Harry, thinking about how Fenrir and Echo talked about Marrok's crush on him, blushed but smiled up at him as well, grateful to see him safe.

 

Around the great hulk of Marrok’s torso, Harry saw Fenrir greet Malfoy too in the same way as he had the others and smirked at the sight of Malfoy frozen in confusion as to what to do, at being treated the same as everyone else in the pack – even by the alpha who hadn't wanted him at first.

 

“You kept Harry safe,” Fenrir said quietly, for werewolf ears only. “Even if my beta hadn't chosen you, you've more than earned your place now. Werewolf or not.”

 

Malfoy nodded, visibly swallowing, looking up at Fenrir but not into his eyes. Harry thought werewolf etiquette was coming easier and easier to Malfoy, and he could not help but notice how clearly Malfoy smelled of Echo now. He flushed, knowing that their pack members could smell how close he and Fenrir had been last night. That was something he didn't think he'd ever get used to and he certainly wouldn't be mentioning it to Malfoy either. Not if he wanted Malfoy to keep that memory of being invited into his hollow during labour to himself. He cringed inwardly.

 

Movement behind him made him remember the others and he glanced back to see a faithful Kreacher standing guard by a wide-eyed Kirian. Hermione and Ron were both on their feet beside him, looking a bit lost. “Sorry guys, Hermione, Ron, Kreacher, these are…” He faltered momentarily, wondering if he should phrase it in a way they understood. He wanted them to understand that something significant had changed while he had been gone but he wanted them to be a part of that too.

 

“They're pack, like…like family. Raquelle, Marrok, Echo, Larentia and you know Malfoy,” he couldn't help but notice Ron scowl at that. Some things never changed. “All of them have fought for me, yes even Malfoy, Ron,” Harry added when the red-head's mouth opened to broach argument. “They're here because they want to help me, because I'm…important to them. They care about me. I know you all do too, so just…treat each other with respect, please? Yes, I mean Malfoy too, Ron.”

 

Ron's mouth snapped shut and his brow furrowed. “I don't get it, mate. They… I know you're kind of one of them or one with them and all that but… They held you prisoner! How can I respect that? I’ll stand by you, mate. I’ll do what needs to be done but you said it yourself, at the start; Greyback dragged you out there and made you into one of them. It saved you from You Know Who but he still changed you against your will! It just feels like you're doing what you've always done, made the best out of a shitty situation.”

 

Beside him, Hermione said nothing, evidently seeing Ron's point. Harry could not help but see it too, even if he didn't agree. He felt tension rippling off of Fenrir and glanced back to him and their pack-mates, before turning to look at Ron again. Harry dragged a hand up through the hair at the back of his neck, still unhappy with being the centre of attention after a childhood of being ignored.

 

“Look,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I can't explain it when I don't even really understand it myself. But…” he looked down at Kirian, who was staring straight back at him, wriggling in that way that signalled he was about to start fussing soon. He was getting better at anticipated his needs. Perhaps he wouldn't be such a bad parent after all, if he lived.

 

A shake of his head cleared his mind of thoughts like that.

 

“Mate,” Ron said, almost pleadingly this time. “I spoke up for Greyback and you in front of my parents because you needed me to. I’ll do it again if you need me to and you're a survivor, we all know that. But this is…this isn't something you just survive. This is your life. You have to live it.”

 

“That is probably the single most intelligent thing you have ever said, Weasley,” Malfoy said. Oddly enough, the familiarity of his empty, snide interjection eased the tension in Harry's chest. He gave a snort of laughter at Malfoy's words and stepped forward to pluck Kirian out of the bouncer and into his arms. He hadn't realised how uneasy and tense he'd felt without him until he felt the rush of relief flood him at that familiar warmth against his chest. He smiled thoughtfully, tucking the blanket tighter around Kirian as that face turned to press against him.

 

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Ron snapped.

 

“I've never felt more alive, Ron,” Harry interjected, those simple words stunning everyone in the vicinity to silence. He looked at his two best friends who he had shared everything with – nearly everything and willed them to understand. “I can't really explain it any better than that, but I told you, Fenrir made mistakes and he had to make up for them and I…I didn't have to choose him, once the werewolf in me had awoken, I mean. But I did, the wolf did – and the wolf and me are the same thing, alright?” he flushed darkly, as did Ron and Hermione.

 

The others were all listening with rapt attention too and Kirian was nuzzling into him in that way that meant he wanted food. That and the fact that he wasn't wearing anything under the cloak, the entire situation really couldn't get more embarrassing, really. “When I know what's going in my head you'll be the first to know. Can we not talk about this right now?" His cheeks were burning.

 

He knew his friends would support him, _had_ supported him with the Weasleys. They were doing their best not to make things even more difficult, they would be there for him, they just wanted to understand. He couldn’t blame them for that.

 

To his surprise, Marrok was the one to break the veil of awkwardness. “So are you going to introduce us then?” he said, his thick, deep voice rich as he inclined his body to bring his face level with Kirian's. Harry noticed that he was just out of reach though, as if he knew Harry was still a little uneasy with the personal space around his son. He probably _did_ know, Harry realised, shifting the tiny body in his arms so that his pack-mates could see.

 

He couldn't help but notice that Malfoy was the quickest to come stand at Marrok's side for a closer look. He met the blond's inquisitive eyes with a kind smile but said nothing. He thought he understood Malfoy, perhaps better than the blond realised. He was alright.

 

“This is Kirian,” Harry said, still feeling peculiar, being a parent. He definitely wasn't old enough or wise enough but he hoped he would simply _be_ enough. He was doing alright so far. Kirian was sucking happily on his dummy, reaching out with a tiny hand without really meaning to He wasn’t able to control the limb yet but ended up patting Marrok's dark, stubbly cheek regardless.

 

Those dark eyes widened in reaction before flicking up to Harry, who nodded his assent, pushing back the wave of unease. This big, dark, friendly giant was perhaps the one most willing to die for him here, besides Fenrir and it was that thought and the warmth and unrequited adoration in Marrok's face that allowed Harry to pass the tiny baby into someone else's arms, someone other than Hermione and Fenrir for the first time.

 

Marrok's huge arms dwarfed Kirian's tiny blanketed body but the unease was still manageable and Harry smiled up at the picture they made. “He's small,” Harry said, voice sounding peculiar. If things had been different, would he have picked Marrok? Echo? Another wolf? Or would it always have been Fenrir? He caught his mate's eyes, ice blue and focussed on him with such unreadable intensity that it made Harry look away to avoid blushing again.

 

“Big for a wolf cub,” Marrok said, eyes only for Kirian now. “He's bloomin' perfect, Harry.” His nostrils flared subtly as he sniffed in what Harry knew was Kirian's unique, sweet, fresh smell.

 

“He smells healthy and happy, well done, Harry,” Echo said from where he stood at Malfoy's side, one hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

 

Kirian blinked in innocent awe at Marrok's striking face and lost his dummy with the open-mouthed babbling that followed. Marrok laughed, a rich, warming sound and to Harry's surprise, when Kirian began to cry for his dummy, Marrok just popped it back in. “He's a needy little thing,” Marrok chuckled, “he'll be spoiled rotten back with the pack. Amoux and Accalia will be so happy to see him.”

 

When he looked Harry in the eye again, Harry was staggered by the emotion there. Ron and Hermione had gone silent behind him at the sight of it. “You've given us a great gift, Harry. He's…precious. Perfect. More than that, the pack wouldn't be the same without you.” He seemed to realise what he'd said then, for he shifted Kirian in his arms distractedly and looked away from Harry's face. “They all miss you. They were frantic when they realised you were gone.”

 

Harry nodded. “I'm sorry everyone worried,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He felt oddly homesick. He missed Amoux, Accalia and the others, especially Vilkas. He felt a little cheated of the way it should've been, the way he should've been able to show Kirian to them all at once. Hopefully there was still time for that. After Voldemort was gone.

 

After a little while Kirian began to fuss and Harry's urge to take him back into the safety of his arms swelled. He wondered distantly if Kirian's mewling made the instincts worse or if the swell of his instincts made Kirian fuss when he was away from him. Perhaps the instinctual urge to be close worked both ways?

 

They moved inside, where they all gathered around the kitchen table. Harry glanced longingly at his cupboard when Kirian started to nuzzle into his chest in a telltale manner, but it felt like an act of cowardice, weakness to hide away at the first urge from his instincts. Conversation flowed around him over cups of tea and flagons of firewhisky. He nursed his tea with one arm bouncing a fussing Kirian, who was trying to latch onto him through the cloak.

 

“He wants feeding.”

 

Harry glanced up at that soft whisper to look at Echo, who was sat just one seat away from him, with only Malfoy to separate them. Harry flushed. Fenrir, who was beside him, hadn't noticed and was still arguing some point about Harry's transformation with Hermione and Raquelle, while on Harry's other side, between him and Echo, Malfoy glanced to Kirian, evidently having heard the comment. Harry caught Malfoy's eye and cleared his throat of awkward embarrassment – not for the first or last time. This was still very, very weird.

 

“He's greedy, he always wants feeding,” Harry said, by way of answer. “It's starting to hurt.” It was both reassuring and mortifying to see Malfoy blush out of the corner of his eye. _He's just as awkward as me,_ Harry thought with satisfaction.

 

“Merlin's balls, Potter,” Malfoy gasped, long pale fingers tense around his mug of Earl Grey. “Please don't tell me you…I mean it's actually possible for you to? It's odd enough seeing you with a… _bump_ and now a baby–”

 

“It's no less odd for me, Malfoy, trust me,” Harry murmured, looking down at Kirian who was scowling up at him, tight little fists twitching in an attempt at a demanding flail. “It's pretty bloody peculiar. Being a Dad. Being…” He still couldn't say _pregnant_ , he just couldn't.

 

“A _mum_?” Malfoy drawled.

 

“Piss off,” Harry muttered without any malice, seeing the tiniest of smirks touch Draco’s mouth. Harry mimicked the expression. “You know, pack members are meant to help with taking care of the baby. You can have your first nappy change if you like?”

 

Draco made a face. “Do I look like the nappy changing sort, Potter? No, that is something I will leave to the most proficient.”

 

“Yeah, I was born to kill _You Know Who_ and wipe shit,” Harry snorted, bantering with Malfoy was just so… _normal._ It helped to quell the unease that had been building in him since last night.

 

“You really should start to watch your language, Harry,” Hermione began, “they say they can pick things up at a very young age. And werewolf cubs are meant to be so advanced-”

 

“It’s not me you should be saying that to,” Harry mused, “tell Fenrir.”

 

 Whether she felt brave enough to confront Fenrir Greyback on his use of language or not, however, would remain a mystery because at that moment Kirian squealed in frustration, effectively cutting across any conversation. Harry glanced to the curtain hiding his cupboard from view and sighed. No. It was all very well embracing his wolf but he couldn't forget the human part of him – the human part that had already spent far too much of his life in cupboards.

 

 “I'll be back in a sec,” he said, rising to his feet and ascending the stairs. As he reached the top and moved into the hall, he heard footsteps coming after him but didn't have to turn to know who it was. Ron looked awkward but earnest, shifting slightly on his feet as they stood together in the hall. With his ears flushed pink, Ron was looking everywhere but at him, but still, he was trying. That alone made Harry smile. “Alright, mate?” he asked.

 

 Ron cleared his throat unnecessarily. “Just… Look,” he said in an _'at last'_ sort of tone. “I've been around loads of kids in my time and their mums – we were really close to Tonks since she had Teddy pretty much as soon as they arrived here and… I just want you to know that, well, women find it bloody weird too, mate. All the stuff you're thinking, all the stuff you're trying not to be afraid of – I know that's just you, pushing through it and acting like it doesn't bother you but… You're not alone. And you're not some sort of freak, either.” He finally met Harry's eyes then.

 

 Harry shifted Kirian up his shoulder a little, swaying him just slightly to ease the fussing. For some reason, the fact that that information had come from an awkward yet honest Ron made it more meaningful than anything else. Ron who, like him never knew the right thing to say and probably found it hardest to accept everything. But he was trying anyway; he was still here and in the middle of a war too – because he cared. They all did.

 

Harry had been so afraid they would judge him, hate him. That they’d leave him when they realised what had been happening since April, when they realised how much he'd changed. But if they were still here by his side now, in the middle of all this madness, he thought that maybe if they all survived, they would be alright – whatever happened.

 

 “Thanks,” he said softly, unsure as ever how to express his gratitude for Ron's friendship. “I'm glad you're here,” he added. Ron smirked, a sign that he understood. 

 

 Just then, down the hall, the front door opened and a windswept looking Remus stepped in, followed by a precession of bodies, some Harry recognised as Order members and his old professors, some completely new faces. They all piled into the cramped hall quietly, evidently having been told about Mrs Black's portrait and at last the door closed behind them. 

 

 “Into the kitchen,” Remus whispered, stepping back against the wall and letting them all pass him. But everything stopped when they saw Harry. 

 

“Is that Harry Potter?” a woman’s voice murmured.

 

“Why has he got a baby?” a man questioned.

 

“Do you think that means Greyback is around here somewhere?” a third, raspy female voice.

 

At last someone stepped through the crowd, breaking through the stalemate. Kingsley walked toward Harry without a moment’s hesitation and clapped him on the shoulder firmly. “It’s good to see you, Harry Potter,” he said, squeezing firmly before letting go, glancing down at the fussing tot in his arms. His eyes widened slightly, he couldn’t be blamed for that, but otherwise, he did not falter. He gave Kirian the same broad smile Harry had seen before. “And who is this young man?”

 

Harry inhaled deeply. But he caught Ron’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, felt Fenrir’s presence through his skin, felt Kirian fidgeting in his arms. He remembered Fenrir’s solemn voice and agonised expression when he’d told Harry how he lost his parents and siblings. He thought of any future Kirian might have in the wizarding world and knew that he couldn’t let himself be bullied by what other people may or may not think.

 

“Kirian Potter Greyback,” he said, chin high, eyes defiant as he stared up at Kingsley and then across to those gathered in dead silence in the hall. It was now or never. “Fenrir saved me from You Know Who. I’ve been… _training_ with him all this time–” It wasn’t a complete lie. “–I have power that the Dark Lord knows not. Because of him. When we win this war tomorrow it’ll be partly because of him and I want everyone to remember that when the dust settles.” His voice was low enough not to disturb Mrs Black, but loud enough for them to hear him, firm, unwavering – he hoped.

 

Ron stepped a little closer to him, showing his support. Among the crowd, Remus said nothing but there was a look in his eyes that suggested he was proud of his strength, even if he didn’t necessarily approve of Fenrir.

 

“Did you trade your body in exchange for his secret training?” the voice of an older, greying man enquired, breaking the silence with apparently the question they were all dying to ask.

 

Harry scowled, shifting Kirian up his shoulder to quiet his fussing just for a moment longer. The boy always quieted easier when his little face was pressed up against Harry's neck, against his mark. Harry wondered if he could smell him and Fenrir best there, he thought that might be it.

 

“No. We became lovers while I stayed with him – mutually,” he replied stiffly, not thinking they deserved any deeper knowledge of his private life than that. What had happened in their den was his and Fenrir’s alone. “My son wasn’t planned by me or Fenrir – I don’t think anyone really wants to give birth to a child in the middle of a war, especially not at eighteen but…he’s mine. I wouldn’t give him up for anything. Neither would Fenrir.”

 

“You gave birth to him you say?” a woman asked. “I didn’t think that was possible without–”

 

“No one realised until a few months ago but I carry recessive lycanthropy in my genes. I’m immune to their venom and…” _I’m one of them,_ he wanted to say, but he knew that if there was any hope of fighting to get Fenrir and the rest of the pack the respect they deserved once the war was over, he had to be more subtle. “Because of that, my body can carry their young. Recessive lycanthropy is all a matter of fact if you want to look it up – it’s been well hushed by the Ministry but the information is there.”

 

The atmosphere was so thick with curiosity that he could taste it. But only curiosity, perhaps awe, but not fear, not hate. It was a good sign. Maybe, just maybe if they all got through this, he could count on the support of these people to change the world after all – at least where werewolves were concerned.

 

“There used to be many more like him before wizards butchered them and their werewolf families like diseased cattle,” a sharp biting voice came from the doorway behind him. Harry glanced back to see Larentia standing in the stairwell leading up from the kitchen, arms folded across her ample chest – which was thankfully covered (as was the rest of her) by a tight-fitting but fluid vest top and cropped jeans. Her face was hard, plagued by the past as she glared at those gathered at the end of the hall.

 

“But even when there were many, Potter’s kind were considered a blessing to us – our kind’s greatest treasure,” again her voice was firm, unyielding. It carried no sarcasm, only bitterness. “That is why werewolves will be marching into battle with you tomorrow. Our strength on the side of wizards, because that is what Harry Potter wants.”

 

“You’ll really all do as he says?” a man asked, betraying a little apprehension. “How do we know that you won’t–”

 

“Because werewolves are not monsters,” she hissed darkly. “And because we move on whatever side Potter takes. Which makes us your allies. If you’re smart, you’ll realise what an asset having Fenrir Greyback and his pack on your side is.”

 

Oddly Larentia’s words seemed to settle the majority of the unease. Harry blinked at her, surprised. Had things been different, she probably would’ve been the better Alpha Numero – the better alpha mate. She knew how to make people listen, how to say what people needed to hear rather than what they wanted. She just knew what to do.

 

 _But things are different,_ Harry thought. _I have everything she wants. That’s why she hates me._ He understood why she’d seemingly dismissed Kirian earlier now. It wasn’t because she found him distasteful, it was because she wished he were hers. She wished she could have what Harry had. _But she can never have any of it for herself,_ Harry thought, a sharp stab of sadness lancing his chest.

 

Kingsley’s voice cut through his reverie. “Are you ready to kill a dark lord, Harry?” he asked in his usual rich, heavy tone, unchanged by Harry's announcement. Harry stared at him, then nodded resolutely. He had to be ready, for Kirian, for Fenrir – everyone.

 

“Then that’s all that matters,” Kingsley said, with an air of finality that seemed to settle everything. “Downstairs,” he said to those in the hall, moving passed Harry, Ron and Larentia and leading the softly murmuring rabble down the stairs into the kitchen. They all nodded respectfully at Harry as they passed him, eyeing Kirian curiously and side-stepping Larentia’s tall imposing form, but showing their support nonetheless.

 

Ron smiled brightly at Harry, knowing (as he always did) that he didn’t need to say anything else, before following the others down into the noisy kitchen. Harry met Larentia’s gaze. Despite the fact that she’d never really liked him (not even in the abstract, confused way that Ulric had), her presence as a pack member had helped to subdue the urge to flee that his instincts had filled him with at being surrounded by so many ‘strangers’. She’d backed him up when he most needed to appear strong.

 

“Thanks,” he said lamely, opening the door into the drawing room with the tapestry and stepping inside. He left it open in what he hoped was obvious invitation. It was, apparently, as she followed him in a little uncertainly, closing the door behind her. Harry gave her a brief glance before moving to sit on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room, flicking on the ancient standing lamp beside it. The soft light filled the room.

 

“Alpha wouldn’t be pleased with you left unprotected with so many strangers in close quarters,” Larentia said stiffly, her tone exposing her uncharacteristic awkwardness as she came to stand over him like a hawk watching its prey.

 

Harry glanced up at her as Kirian grizzled unhappily, hungry as always. “Stay and watch then,” he said in what he hoped was a casual voice. She said nothing, arms still folded across her chest but her gaze was riveted to Kirian as Harry leant back, letting Kirian lay the length of his body, the better to control his feeding and adjusted the swaddling cloth so that it covered his chest when he exposed it, giving him some modesty. It didn’t matter that his chest looked the same, he still felt bloody weird feeding a baby. He was a man for crying out loud!

He winced as Kirian latched on, brushing his finger down the back of his soft, downy hair. “Calm down you greedy little git,” Harry grumbled softly, wondering absently if Kirian would grow up to be tall and stocky like Fenrir or short and scrawny like him. If both him and Fenrir would be there to see him, to squabble over if he’d go to Hogwarts or not, the things normal parents would…

 

When Kirian finished, Harry adjusted his own shirt, sitting Kirian in his lap and rubbing his back while supporting his head and body with one hand – firm and persistent, the way Fenrir did. Not that he’d admit out loud that he was accepting his parenting advice. The arse was taking to parenthood far easier than him; his ego didn’t need to get any bigger.

 

When at last he coaxed a large belch from Kirian, it was punctuated with thin, milky spit. Harry winced, mopping it up with a corner of the blanket that’s fibres resisted dirt and seemingly everything else. It made the baby sick dissipate as if it’d never been on contact. He really did love magic.

 

Larentia shifted in front of him, drawing Harry's gaze up to her hard, beautiful face. Her chin was slightly lifted, as if concealing something. Harry knew what it was. Longing. He sat up a little straighter, not knowing what to say as always. He never knew how to talk to people about delicate matters, perhaps that was why he and Fenrir were so well suited. They both had the tact of a pair of Hungarian Horntails.

 

“Do you…err…want to hold him?” he asked.

 

Larentia frowned, confused. Whether that was just because she hadn’t expected Harry to be able to let someone else hold him with their instincts still rife, or because she didn’t expect him to let _her_ hold him, he couldn’t tell. Still, he sat further forward on the chaise, offering Kirian up in a more comfortable position.

 

Larentia slid to her knees; eager but tentative, like a wild, tortured beast uncertain if it should take food that was being offered. She glanced quickly at Harry, as if she suspected this may be a trick. Eventually, tentatively, she sat up on her heels and reached around awkwardly, not sure how to take him.

 

Harry gave a small, knowing smile, wondering how he himself would’ve coped if his instincts hadn’t taken over at the start. “Make a sort of cradle with your arm,” he said uncomfortably, realising that this was the most they’d spoken since they’d first met. Since their argument at the fireside all those months ago, they’d mostly avoided each other. He didn’t know how to speak with her. It felt strained but he could feel her longing, as palpable as her very skin when he slid Kirian into her arms, which slid around him, enclosing him in an embrace that was soft but protective.

 

She slumped back on her knees as he settled in her arms, squirming the way he always did after food. Harry leant forward, taking the opportunity to button his own shirt back up properly but Larentia didn’t look up at his movement, didn’t even twitch. It was as if all she could see or hear was the tiny, now sleepy infant in her arms. Harry watched her awkwardly, stubbornly stabbing down the fierce roar of instincts inside, desperate to yank his cub back from her embrace.

 

The sight of her mask slowly melting away, her open expression that she’d never shown before, the smell of her despair made Harry ache. He’d known for some time where her dislike for him stemmed from, but he’d not realised just how deep the sadness went within her. Not until now. Her long dirty blonde locks spilled over one shoulder in a glossy curtain, but it did not hide the hot, bitter tears that rolled down her cheeks.

 

“I’d rather die than never feel this again,” she breathed raggedly, “than never have a child of my own. I need this, I _deserve_ this…”

 

“Larentia,” Harry said softly, startled by her tears, this strong, feisty, powerful woman. She whipped her head up with defiance burning in his glassy eyes.

 

“Do you know how unfair it is that I should be denied this? When you, _you_ who never even wanted it…” She winced as her voice broke, taking in a deep breath to steady her voice. “Alpha speaks of rescuing cubs and waifs and strays, but he never contemplates _this,_ does he? He can’t possibly understand because he never felt this… _need._ Need for something I can never have. Marrok turned me, you know,” she hissed bitterly, “I was freezing on the streets, high as a kite where my own mother had jacked me up. He saved me, turned me, he gave me another chance…”

 

She grit her perfect white teeth as if she could feel the pain of death drawing in all over again. “I’d rather have died then than live through this now,” she breathed darkly, brushing her first knuckle across Kirian’s chubby little cheek. He yawned widely, dazzling green eyes drifting closed.

 

“Don’t say that,” Harry said sharply, before he knew what he was doing. She glanced up at him, face hard, closed again.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do, boy,” she sneered.

 

“I’m giving you advice not telling you what to do,” he retorted, steeling himself against her glare. He wasn’t afraid of her. Even if her temper rivalled his own. “Don’t you dare sit there and wish away your life. It’s a gift, not many people get two chances at it – Marrok gave you a chance. You really resent him and the others, your life with them so bloody much? I’d have _killed_ to be raised as one of you rather than by my relatives.”

 

“Don’t you dare judge me,” she seethed. “You don’t know me–”

 

“I think I do though,” Harry said, staring at her unwaveringly. “I know. I’ve got everything you want and you think I’m an ungrateful, undeserving little shit.” He smiled wryly. “I suppose maybe I am a bit. Like you, I s’pose I don’t really have a lot of self worth. But I do value my life.”

 

Larentia glared at him a moment longer before staring back down into Kirian’s peaceful, oblivious face. The hurt gnawed at her flawless features once again, betraying her hard mask as exactly that, a mask, a façade. “There is no value to my life if I can’t carry my own child, feel it move within me, bring it into the world… Amoux and the others, they are content, happy to adopt those orphaned children but I need… _I need this,_ ” she stroked Kirian’s soft, thick head of hair. “There is nothing else for me.”

 

Harry regarded her closely, thinking that Hermione would’ve known exactly what to say right now, exactly how to phrase things where all he could say was, “maybe someday you’ll meet someone that’ll change your mind. Life has a way of…working out.”

 

Larentia stared at him. She scoffed. “Good doesn’t triumph _just_ because _‘good triumphs’_ you silly little twat,” she snapped disbelievingly. “Good people die everyday for no reason at all. Ulric died the other day and he never had anyone to call his own, not in all his years-”

 

“But he died for Kirian,” Harry interjected confidently. “He died so that Fenrir could come home to find me and Kirian safe. I think that’s all he ever wanted really, for Fenrir to be happy.”

 

Lifting her chin with a sense of misplaced superiority, Larentia sneered, “and you think you can give Alpha that, do you? You think you can raise his son better than I could?”

 

Harry raised a brow. “Dunno,” he said honestly, ineloquently. He set his jaw. “I hope I’m not a shit dad. I don’t really know what I’m doing and I don’t know what he wants when he cries – Fenrir says I pick him up too much and it’s going to give him a complex…” Why was he telling her this? Her of all people, when he hadn’t admitted to anyone else that he was more terrified of parenthood than Voldemort?

 

“I’ll probably make a colossal mess like I do with everything else, but…I’ll love him, I hope that’s enough.”

 

Larentia inclined her head, full lips twisting. She really was beautiful, Harry thought and he had to wonder exactly how mental Fenrir was to pick him over her. She looked thoughtful all of a sudden, rather than angry and tortured. “Do you mean Kirian or Fenrir?” she murmured.

 

Breathing out slowly, chewing at the inside of his mouth, Harry sat back in the chair. He didn’t know how to answer her. Hermione had always said he and Ron were rubbish trying to decipher even their own feelings. He certainly didn’t know how to put it into words.

 

In the end he sighed awkwardly and stared into Larentia’s eyes. “I never expected any of this to happen but I s’pose life can be as random as lightning strikes sometimes. I never knew I’d feel… _anything_ like this but I do and…well, I’ve changed. Everything has. And so will you – you won’t always feel the way you do now. I know it.”

 

Larentia’s eyes glowed as they held his for a long, silent moment; drawn out until eventually she had to look down again at Kirian’s sleepy face. He yawned widely again and his big green eyes slid shut. She was quiet for a long time and did not speak again until Kirian’s deep slumbering breaths reached their ears. “He’s so lovely,” she said softly, her voice cracking, as if she’d swallowed gravel.

 

Harry smiled. “He is. More than I thought he’d be,” he mused, remembering his fear and bitterness toward his little bludger like a distant memory. The feeling was like a fuzzy echo, something he couldn’t remember feeling at all. Even though he was fucking terrified and clueless, it was a struggle to remember how much he’d not wanted this. He couldn’t even pinpoint the place in time where he’d started to love him. It’d just happened.

 

“Do you regret having him?” Larentia asked then.

 

Harry frowned. “No,” he said, without missing a beat. “Of course not.”

 

“And you don’t regret choosing Fenrir?”

 

Harry _did_ take a moment then. “No,” he said, voice small.

 

“Do you love him?”

 

Before Harry could answer, the door opened and Snape stepped in, glancing between the two of them in confused concern. When impassiveness touched each of his features once again, he stepped further into the room, holding the door open. “Potter, we need to discuss our strategy.” He stared at the baby in Larentia’s arms for a moment. “Perhaps it would be best if you allow the she-wolf to take your child down to its father.”

 

To Harry's utter surprise, Larentia bared her teeth in a warning snarl, shifting to place herself slightly in front of Harry. “Even wizards don’t trust you, Snape,” she seethed. “Why should I trust you with him?”

 

Snape sneered. “Apologies, I wasn’t aware that Potter was yours. He _has_ been getting around, hasn’t he? Is that the way that werewolves treat their breeders? They all take a turn with him?”

 

Harry winced, shooting to his feet. “Piss off, Snape,” he growled. It didn’t matter that he knew the man was on their side, that he was good – he still pushed his buttons. He glared at his old professor before turning to look at Kirian asleep in Larentia’s arms. This would be the first time he would leave the room without him. The first time they’d be parted. He felt sick.

 

 _And when you face Voldemort, you’ll have to leave the entire building without him – perhaps for the last time,_ his mind supplied. Harry made a pained, inhuman sound and flinched from the thought. Larentia and Snape were both staring at him.

 

“You’re pushing too far too soon,” Larentia said, eyeing Snape distrustfully but stepping closer to Harry at the same time, half-heartedly offering Kirian back to Harry's arms. Her voice was as hard and unyielding as ever but Harry could sense… _something_ underneath it. He looked down at his little bludger and it took all his strength of will not to take him. He grit his teeth, pain spiralling through his chest. He _was_ going to vomit.

 

“Take him to Fenrir – I’ll be down in a minute,” he gasped out, knowing that he had to do this, had to try or there was no way he’d be able to leave the house without him when the time came. Larentia hesitated and that brief hesitation was almost enough for his resolve to break. Almost. He forced himself to freeze in place, to watch as Larentia walked out of the room with his sleeping cub, glaring at Snape the whole way.

 

The soft clunk of the door closing broke something in him. It hurt.

 

“When you are quite finished being sentimental and hormonal, Potter,” Snape droned as he swept into the middle of the room, staring at the tapestry that dominated the long wall. Harry followed his gaze and saw that _Draco Abraxas Malfoy_ was now linked with a thin silver thread to _Echo Bayard_. Harry wondered what Draco would say to the significance of that – and if Lucius and Narcissa had a similar family tree that would show their son’s serious connection to another man – a werewolf at that.

 

“Miss Granger told me that she filled you in on the details of our little horcrux hunt,” Snape said after some time, inclining his head to look at Harry with mild distaste, as if he were a particularly gruesome but interesting potions ingredient. Harry stared back, unmoving. His skin prickled with the wrongness of not having his cub close by. He dug his nails into his palms to ground himself.

 

“Is there going to a point to this?” Harry asked, “or are you just trying to pass the time to avoid going downstairs - _Sir_?”

 

Snape’s mouth twisted. “Haven’t changed at all really, have you, Potter?” he said, but with an odd touch to his voice that sounded almost…relieved. He was grateful Harry was, for the most part unharmed and healthy, it seemed. But then the greasy git had always been watching over him, in his own way. Harry had to admit that. It was this thought and the knowledge of what Dumbledore had forced Snape to do that allowed him to hold his tongue for the first time in his life in front of Snape.

 

Regarding Harry carefully, Snape seemed to be calculating his next words precisely, looking almost uncertain. Perhaps it was the control Harry visibly had to exert to not rush out the door to snatch his cub back. Perhaps it was Harry's mature silence but eventually, Snape spoke, his voice apprehensive, as Harry had never heard it before.

 

“Potter,” he said slowly. “Before he died, Albus Dumbledore left me with some very important information. Information I was to pass to you when the time came.”Harry thought he saw _‘curse him for leaving this burden to me as well’_ written all over the man’s usually sneering face.

 

Harry frowned, but as his lips parted in speech, Snape cut him off. A heavy plummeting sensation dropped in his gut, foreboding as thick and weighty as metal in his stomach.

 

“He knew that you could sense the horcruxes, Potter. He knew that your scar wasn’t just caused by a dark curse or hex,” Snape breathed, staring into his eyes without flinching for perhaps the first time in Harry's life. “Granger said that you killed the Snake.”

 

Harry drew in a sharp breath and slammed his eyes shut at the acid-like torrent of emotion spiralling up inside. It ate away at his organs, choking him like bile.

_“The snake was a horcrux,”_ he had said to Fenrir. _“It was so strange. I could just… I just knew…”_

 

“No,” Harry said, his voice low, quiet, breaking. Because he knew, deep down what Snape was going to say and Harry thought that after everything that had happened, after all the emotional and physical torment he’d suffered – was still suffering, it was so unfair that it felt like dying. It hurt more than anything Voldemort had ever done to him. It hurt even more than watching Snape kill Dumbledore, or Voldemort murder Cedric, or poor Hedwig or…

 

“You are the last horcrux, Potter,” Snape said, voice solemn, pained. Harry shook his head, all maturity gone. He was suddenly glad Kirian wasn’t here because he didn’t want to be strong for anyone. He wanted…he wanted to curl up and cry, to smack his feet and fists against the floor until the world listened and did what he wanted.

 

“No,” Harry growled out, little more than a whisper.

 

_“I need to know how many horcruxes are left so I know if I can kill him.”_

Oh God.

 

“Neither can live while the other survives,” Harry gasped. It wasn’t until he felt pain in his knees that he realised he’d slumped to the floor at Snape’s feet. Rather than stand, rather than even bother he just leant forward on his arms, squeezing his eyes shut again tighter. “One of us has to kill the other – he has to kill me, doesn’t he? He always had to. Dumbledore knew I had to…” The thought made him sick. Angry at Dumbledore. Miserable.

 

“I thought he loved me,” he said, feeling incredibly young and foolish for saying it, but it was the first thing that forced its way out of his mouth.

 

“I do not think that man ever loved anything more,” Snape admitted, “I think he wished he didn’t, because he’d known for so long that you must be…kept _alive_ to die at the right time. I believe sentencing you to this was the hardest thing he had to accept.”

 

Harry shook his head again, this time trying to shake it all from his mind, clear his head of the overwhelming grief that threatened to break him open. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he choked, not caring that he was effectively having a conversation with Snape’s feet, eyes still closed against the sight of the treacherous, unfair real world beyond the back of his eyelids.

 

Snape didn’t answer him. But then Harry already knew the answer. He could almost hear Dumbledore’s soft, lightly lilting voice say _“I cared about you too much,”_ just as it had in his office all those years ago, when Sirius had died. Harry thought he would bleed to death with the pain of this. He couldn’t do it.

 

“I can’t,” he choked, “Kirian and Fenrir and Draco and…” And poor Ghost, the pack. Hermione and Ron. Remus, Teddy, Tonks, the Weasleys…

 

Suddenly Snape was hauling him up, throwing him hard against the wall with the tapestry, long potion-stained fingers gripping Harry's shirt and shaking him roughly. His face was wild, his eyes dilated and teeth exposed – in anguish so similar to Harry's that it startled him. “Listen to me, Potter,” Snape spat, even if the pain in his face betrayed his emotions. “I could stand here and pat your back and offer you false comfort but it will not change a thing. There is no other way, the fact that you are barely eighteen and a parent does not change that.”

 

Harry stared up at him, into the face of a man that had always given everything to keep him safe – always, even though he hated him. A man who had no one and nothing. A man who had no reason to keep fighting other than it was the right thing to do.

 

“You have a plan, don’t you?” Harry asked, voice low. “So that I…I _die_ properly…”

Snape released him as if Harry's pain stung him and took a step back.

 

“Yes, Mr Potter. Unfortunately, I know exactly what has to be done,” Snape replied coolly. His face lined, weary and haunted like a man twice his age. Somehow along the line, he and Snape had found themselves understanding each other completely. “I will go over it with you now,” Snape murmured, words heavy, “before we go downstairs and then tell the rest of the rabble–”

 

“A censored version,” Harry interrupted, his tone hollow as he held that dark gaze. “Fenrir can’t know. No one can.”

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry felt guiltily pleased that when he and Snape joined the chaos in the kitchen, only to find Kirian was fussing unhappily without him. It was stupid, to be happy that his son was upset but…it was nice to be missed. Proof of how young he was, he supposed. Young and insecure.

 

The room fell into a deathly hush as he stepped back in, Snape on his heels. He stopped as he descended the stairs, immobilised by their eyes until Snape’s bony finger prodded him hard between his shoulder blades. He made his way to the far end of the table where Fenrir sat, Kirian looking very small vulnerable in Fenrir’s big arms. Harry felt every pair of eyes on him as he came to stand by his mate’s side.

 

Fenrir’s frowning face searched his, evidently sensing his upset but not saying a word in front of their audience. Harry stepped closer, drawing in a small breath before setting his hand on Fenrir’s shoulder and squeezing. He looked down the table that had been extended to make room for everyone. Snape stood at the opposite end, watching him with a stoic, unreadable expression.

 

“Thanks for coming,” Harry said, his voice awkward, uncomfortable, feeing very anti-climactic given what they were all about to embark upon. “Tomorrow Sn – _Professor Snape_ is going to take us all to Him. There’s no telling what’s going to be waiting for us there but when we arrive, I want you to take care of the Death Eaters, clear a path and leave _You Know Who_ to me.”

 

Low, frantic muttering rippled down the table. Hermione clasped a sickly looking Ron’s hands, Remus sat up straighter, as if he were about to argue, while Fenrir just sat there, glaring down at those gathered at the table, as if daring them to challenge him.

 

“What are you going to do by yourself?” Kingsley asked, the only one brave enough to break the silence it seemed with Fenrir glaring back at them all.

 

Harry breathed in and out slowly, trying to keep his composure. He felt sick. He felt like he was looking through a muggy glass at someone else’s life, someone else’s drama that he couldn’t get emotionally attached to. His fingers dug into Fenrir’s shoulder and he looked down to see Kirian squirming, blinking feebly in the direction of his voice and smell. Something inside him ached, cracked and trembled, threatening to give way. His eyes burned but he bit it back. If he gave in just a little, he wouldn’t be able to claw back his resolve or composure.

 

He’d never missed the simplicity of the pack and the valley as much as right now.

 

“I’m not going alone,” he said at last, voice low as he stared into Kirian’s little face, his thoughts so very far away from his physical body. “Professor Snape and Fenrir will ensure I get to _Him_.”

Hermione and Ron looked as if they were about to protest. Remus frowned, “Harry, are you sure you wouldn’t prefer if we–?”

 

“Remus,” he said slowly, firmly. “I want you and Kingsley to lead the battle, if that’s alright? Hermione, Ron, make sure I have a clear path through and that no one follows after us.” Down the table there were many familiar faces, all concerned for him, all wanting to help. Harry thought at that moment, he could’ve lead them blindly into darkness and they still would’ve followed. He’d never felt so strong, felt such support and yet…he was helpless all at the same time. So lost.

 

They all thought it best if everyone remained at Grimmauld Place and so after the dinner Kreacher had prepared gleefully for everyone, Tonks and Remus took charge of ensuring everyone had a comfortable place to sleep. Fenrir and the werewolves sat at the table with Ron, Hermione and Snape, an odd group discussing spells and tactics, while Harry made his way over to the back door where Draco was standing. He was leaning against the frame, staring out the open door into the moonlit garden.

 

“You’re worried about your mum and dad?” Harry asked as he came to stand beside him, a sleeping Kirian in his arms. It was a statement not a question. Draco glanced quickly in his direction, then down at Kirian before looking out into the garden once more.

 

“I know you might think it stupid – I know you think that they’re the enemy but they were just as much prisoners there as I was, Potter. My father never meant for this to happen and–”

 

“They’re your mum and dad,” Harry said, feeling eerily calm tonight, as if he were watching the events from outside his body. “Even if they were complete bastards who deserved everything, of course you’d still be worried. They’re your parents.” He realised how his words had sounded when Draco’s head snapped to him and he glared ferociously, back stiffening. Harry winced. “You know what I mean,” he attempted.

 

Draco frowned. “My father got in too deep and couldn’t get out,” Draco said stiffly. “My mother and I were drawn in because of him. They don’t deserve to die because of one mistake…”

 

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to say it was more than one mistake on Lucius Malfoy’s behalf, but he knew that wasn’t fair – not on Draco, not on anyone when he, Harry didn’t know the full story. He sighed, leaning against the opposite side of the door. He watched Draco for some time, even when Draco lost their staring match and looked back to the garden once more. He was learning how to work as a wolf already – even if he was human, Harry thought. He knew not to look into an alpha’s eyes too long. He’d do just fine. The thought made his chest feel warm.

 

“I’m glad you and Echo found each other – you need each other,” Harry said. Draco’s head snapped back to him so fast Harry swore he heard his neck snap.

 

“What?” Draco asked, flushed.

 

The corner of Harry's lips twitched. “He’s a good bloke and you’re…you’re not as much of a prat as you were.” He watched Draco flush darker with annoyance for a moment before smiling. “You pulled through when everyone needed you, more than once. I’m glad you’re with someone who’ll let you be yourself. Who’ll stand by you. You deserve it.”

 

Draco stared at him for the longest time. Long enough for Harry to watch his face twist in embarrassment more than anger. “What sentimental bollocks, Potter,” Draco sniffed but there was no bite to his tone as he looked down at Kirian thoughtfully. He moistened his dry lips. “I can never give him what you’ve got with Greyback. I don’t think I’d really want too and I don’t know that I want to be a werewolf. He doesn’t mind though, he doesn’t…” Draco paused, evidently trying to find the right words. “It’s…different, having someone who doesn’t care if I make a fool of myself, if I’m not clever enough or strong enough or… He just wants me, as I am.”

 

Harry smiled wistfully. “Ironic that slovenly, brutish werewolves are so much more accepting than humans.”

 

Draco met Harry's eyes again. “They understand what it is to be persecuted for something you cannot control, I suppose,” he agreed. Silence, and then… “Potter, I don’t want to die tomorrow.”

Harry froze. Those words were so quiet, so unlike Draco Malfoy and so close to his own pain that he was determinedly keeping a distance from. “Malfoy – _Draco_ , I–”

 

“No,” Draco said quickly, just as soft. “I meant that… I don’t want to die, but it’s… I don’t want him to die either, he _can’t_ die, I couldn’t bear it and that is worse than my own end, I can’t…” The words were so quiet yet thick with emotion and so very telling. They made Harry's chest ache. He reached out and gripped Draco’s shoulder, squeezing. The contact made Draco still. Harry squeezed harder.

 

“He’s not going to die, Draco,” he said seriously. He watched Draco’s lips move on the verge of protest, so Harry continued swiftly. “He’s not going to die. No one is, because I’m going to beat _You Know Who_. I won’t let anyone else die for me.” His own voice wavered heavily at that last bit, grating against his throat like raining shrapnel and he had to swallow hard to try and hold _everything_ back. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him, even for a moment, he couldn’t share this burden or it would break him.

 

What made him able to keep his nerve, his façade and bravado, he thought was the sight of Draco’s expression. He believed him. He believed _in_ him, in his promise so honestly that it was like a startling revelation. Draco Malfoy of all people, just _knew_ he could do it. “I want you to stay here tomorrow,” Harry said, before Draco could say anything to shatter the confidence he’d instilled in him.

 

Draco frowned. Harry smiled slightly. He knew Draco was a coward, he’d known it for the last seven years of their lives but he also knew that he loved Echo, whether Draco knew that yet or not. Harry knew that the blond wanted to be with Echo in the battle and yet was scared at the same time. He knew Draco was afraid, knew he’d likely do something stupid if faced with his parents or if Echo fell. He wanted to take that decision away from him, but more than that…

 

Slowly, Harry edged closer and offered a sleeping Kirian up to Draco’s arms. Draco froze and went white. “No,” the blond said quickly, trying to recoil back but trapped with the doorframe at his back. “Potter, I can’t – _children_ are just–”

 

“He might not be here if it weren’t for you,” Harry said sharply, “I want you to protect him, look after him while Fenrir and I are gone tomorrow. Kreacher can help you, you can even stick him with nappy-duty if you want, the little weirdo seems to love it but I want _you_ to protect him, Draco.” The use of his first name seemed to make Draco still in his protests. Still pale-faced, he blinked at Harry, then down at the infant he was offering up.

 

“I’ve never even _held_ a child, Potter,” Draco said weakly, keeping his arms rigid at his sides.

 

“Well you can start now then,” Harry said.

 

“There must be someone better – Granger or–”

 

“You’re pack,” Harry said firmly. “You’re the only one I let into the hollow when I was… _well, you know_. You’re the only one I trust to leave him with.” His instincts didn’t flare angrily at the mere thought of passing Kirian to Draco, that’s how he knew what he was saying was right. There were only three beings he could allow to touch his cub without _forcing_ his instincts back first. His mate and those he was responsible for; Ghost and Draco.

 

Draco wasn’t moving still, wasn’t even blinking, such was the horror of the idea Harry was presenting to him. Harry sighed. “Draco, I’m not even going to be able face leaving him tomorrow if you don’t do this for me. You have to.”

 

Draco looked dubious still. “I want…I want to be with Echo,” he said, trying to steady his voice, but there was no conviction in it. There was no shame in not wanting to be a warrior, especially not when you were still willing to walk into battle with the rest if you thought it’d save the ones you loved. Harry thought Malfoy might punch him if he tried to say so, though.

 

“You’re the only one who can do this,” Harry said firmly, meaning it.

 

After a long silence, Draco sighed heavily, tension still thick in his breathing and limbs as he hesitantly reached up to pull Kirian to him. He was a bit clumsy and the movement made Kirian frown and stir. Draco froze, eyes wide. He shifted as if to give him back but Harry stepped away, smirking slightly at the picture they made.

 

“Stop that smirking, Potter,” Draco snapped quickly, panicked. Visibly conscious of dropping him, Draco brought Kirian close to his chest and flattened himself to the doorway. “Bloody hell, Potter, I can’t do this, take him back, I–”

 

“If I can do it you can,” Harry said, “you’re not scared, are you Malfoy?”

 

Draco looked up at him ever so slowly, his mouth setting into a hard line. “You wish,” he retorted, glancing back to Kirian. “Just show me how to hold your little bludger properly before I drop him and he becomes _special_ just like you.”

 

Harry ignored the biteless bile and flushed instead at the first comment. “You, err…heard me call him that?”

 

Draco raised his chin, the perfect picture of the haughty pureblood boy he’d been in first year. “I spent enough time with you at the valley. Of course I did, you called him that all the time and if you evertell _anyone_ about the things you saw _me_ do back there, I have that and more as blackmail material.”

 

Harry winced, knowing how many things Draco was privy to. _Like running naked with a bunch of wolves_ , he thought, which while natural to him, would probably freak everyone else out. “Understood,” Harry said, reaching to show Draco how to hold his arms better for Kirian so that they were both comfortable. He felt eyes burning into the side of his neck as he told Draco about various things he might need to know and when he looked into the kitchen behind them, he saw Fenrir watching him carefully.

 

“And what if he gets hungry?” Draco asked with a wrinkle of his slightly pointed nose. “I’m not bloody doing what you do.”

 

Harry felt his stomach tremble at the thought of anyone else being able to feed his little bludger. The one thing no one else could do like he could. He didn’t want someone to take that away. _Don’t be so bloody stupid, he has to eat,_ his mind admonished, even as his stomach twisted sickeningly.

 

The striking, agonising knowledge, the reality of what had to be done licked at his senses still and he bit them back hard as he spoke. “If…If I’m not back before then,” he began, voice a little too raw, “Kreacher will just have to prepare a bottle. He’ll show you how, he’s been doing it for Teddy since he was a newborn. He’ll know the right formula and…” He couldn’t, he just couldn’t think about it. He looked at his sleeping son and everything just hurt. He felt his eyes sting and he glanced quickly to the back garden, not wanting anyone else to see.

 

“Have a practice half hour with him, yeah? I want a walk and it’s too cold for him tonight,” Harry said quickly, giving Kirian one last look that tugged at his chest until he thought he might scream. He dashed from the doorstep, forcing himself away even as his instincts howled inside his head.

 

“Shut up,” he cursed them through clenched teeth. He was in his jeans and sweatshirt, both feeling heavy and unnatural against his skin after so long in the valley. The jumper scraped at his sensitive chest but he pushed on, walking straight to the back garden wall, knowing the light from the kitchen wouldn’t reach this far. Inside the charmed pocket of his jeans he’d stowed the invisibility cloak. With a quick glance back at the kitchen door where Draco stood with Kirian (visibly trying to see where Harry had gone with his less accurate human eyes), Harry dragged the cloak over his head and scaled the fence.

 

Landing neatly on the pavement on the other side, he began to walk – fast. He needed to walk. He needed to run, run and run until the thoughts and the pain just stopped. He cast a quick charm to ensure the cloak didn’t blow off him and then bolted into the darkness. The streetlights shined a sad, feeble orange above. His feet sounded heavy on the deserted concrete as he flew. His mind was racing, his heart hammering and breath too short, ragged. He kept seeing Kirian’s face, hearing him crying and imagining his fitful misery when Harry didn’t come in response to those sounds.

 

Harry snarled out into the night. He ran faster, harder, so fast the wind rushed ferociously against his face. Fenrir would be desolate, he’d be heartbroken but he’d have Kirian, he’d be strong for him. Bitter, angry tears stung Harry’s eyes. It wasn’t fair. It just _wasn’t_. After all this time, after everything he’d been through…

 

He reached the park near Grimmauld Place. It was deserted, of course. Not that he cared, he was still covered by the cloak. He flew into the trees, their cover comforting him, the leaves crunching underfoot and wind whistling through them a balm to his frayed nerves. He darted between the birch trees, so fresh and alive among the London smog that had been suffocating his wolf lungs.

 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_. Kirian needed him. Fenrir needed him. Harry _wanted_ to live, for the first time he had something to live for!

 

Not paying attention, his shoulder slammed hard into a tree and the shock of the blow stopped him dead. Harry cried out, his shoulder throbbing with agony, arm useless and tense with hot, bubbling pain. He slammed the fist of his free hand against the bark of a tree, watching it splinter under his fist. He snarled, biting through the pain that was a welcome distraction to his emotional torment.

 

“I fucking did everything you asked!” He half growled, half cried into the dark, “I did _everything_!” _Just let me come home to him, to them,_ his mind finished as he crumpled at the foot of the tree, hand coming round to support his dislocated shoulder. He felt hot tears streaking down his cheeks before he could stop them and surrendered, letting them come where no one could see.

 

His instincts flared to the surface at his despair and he welcomed them, the coping mechanism that let him cry out as much as he wanted without care for pride or duty. With a grunt, he leant forward, instinct telling him what to do even as he sobbed. He braced himself against the tree and snarled out as he jerked his shoulder back into the socket. It ached, it throbbed but his wolf blood was already healing the damage.

 

Harry clenched his fingers instinctively, staring down at them, at his fingernails and knuckles. As he did so, he watched his nails grow long, jet black fur growing from his arms. It was only brief, like a shudder that rolled from fingertip to wounded shoulder. When it was over, his shoulder didn’t hurt anymore. All he was left with was his inner wounds that not even the werewolf in him could heal.

 

Whining softly, Harry rolled onto his side under his cloak, closing his eyes against the world and rolling into the dirt as the wolf took over. _Please don’t let me have to leave them like this,_ was his last conscious thought as his instincts swelled over the forefront of his mind and the ground cracked ominously behind him. Tossing the cloak back, Harry rolled onto his hands and knees in one fluid movement, snarling warningly at the dark shadow looming over him.

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._

 


	23. Their Moon and Stars

A/N: Please note that in this story, the deathly hallows do not exist. Harry’s cloak is just an invisibility cloak. I only mention this as Voldemort’s wand is just an ordinary wand, not the Elder Wand.

 

So much angst this has to see in the New Year 0__0 **Be warned it’s quite gory in parts as well.** Still, hope you all had a good one and hope you still enjoy the chapter. Sorry but **there is a bitch of a cliff-hanger again** as there literally was no decent place to end the chapter with so much going on. Also be warned I didn’t have much time to proof-read this chapter with everything going on, so there may be a few mistakes. Sorry about that, I will go back and fix at a later date. Hope you still enjoy and that you forgive me X3 Love you all, as always.

 

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.: Chapter Twenty-Three :.

Their Moon and Stars

 

 

A large silver wolf stalked forward, teeth bared. He was displeased with his display of anger, with Harry running away from their den and into the dangers of the outside world. Even pressed by his instincts Harry knew why his mate was angry, but it didn’t stop him. He dug his fingers into the grassy earth and felt magic bristle through him like a prickle of static electricity. It mingled with the misery and despair eating at him until his limbs shook.

 

 Fenrir stood over him, head raised, demanding submission and contrition for putting himself in danger. Harry laid low and snarled, the sound carrying through his body, which shifted until he was growling out of a black muzzle. He leapt, slamming into his bulkier mate. His weight wasn’t enough to throw him but he did stagger, snarling and swinging sideways, swiping at Harry's side to send him skidding through the dirt.

 

 Harry rolled, kicking up soil and leaves, charging again, rearing up and lunging for the scruff of his mate’s neck. Fenrir twisted his head, nipping Harry's flank midair and tossing him over. Harry caught his fur as he did, dragging them both into a rolling tumble of fur, teeth and kicking paws. Harry felt his misery pique in his chest and he snarled in pain.

 

 Fenrir jerked back as if stung, leaving Harry sprawled on his back, his mate standing over him. Wriggling for purchase on the ground, Harry kicked up hard into his mate’s belly. Winded, surprised, Fenrir staggered and Harry pounced, morphing back into his naked, scratched human body as he collided hard with the bear-sized wolf, punching at every inch of fur he could reach.

 

 Harry didn’t realise he was shaking with the force of his blows, with the torrent of emotions until the fur beneath his fists turned to flesh and two huge hands gripped his wrists, stopping him from striking again. Fenrir didn’t say anything. He growled warningly, pushing Harry firmly until he was on his back in the earth, hands pinned either side of his head with Fenrir kneeling over him, holding him in place.

 

 Arms shaking with the effort to try and buck Fenrir off, Harry growled back. He writhed and snarled and snapped. Fenrir was covered in scratches that were already healing before his eyes. Harry felt a particularly nasty bruise to his own face throb, relishing in the physical pain that distracted him from the gaping chasm of emotional agony in his chest. The scratches and scrapes on his torso and arms stung and he growled in negation as Fenrir just held him there, forced him to be still and cry out instead of hurt and be hurt like he wanted – _needed._

 

 Fenrir’s eyes were bright blue in the dark. Harry clenched his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look. He couldn’t bear the concern, the unwavering loyalty in them. It was bad enough he could feel it eating away at the anger inside him, turning his fury and frustration into softer, more terrifying emotions. Feelings he couldn’t deal with. He didn’t want to be sad, he wanted to be angry. Angry was easier.

 

 Fenrir’s head dipped then, mouth sliding along the harsh throbbing bruise on his cheek. Harry stiffened, wincing as if disgusted. He didn’t want to be healed, he didn’t want affection or care or the reassurance that Fenrir’s bristly mouth brought. He cried out in frustration, pushing with all his might against Fenrir’s hold as that tongue slid down, healing the tiny wounds before even his body could do so.

 

 When that mouth slid along his in a human kiss, a horrid dry sob that escaped his lips. He hated it. Harry surged up when Fenrir released his wrists, but Fenrir’s hands caught the back of his neck, his waist and held him against his own body, forced him to endure the kiss. Harry dug his blunt nails into the man’s shoulder blades, trying to make him let go. Every time he growled or cried out Fenrir’s tongue would lash at his, smothering the sound, warm, firm and pliant mouth massaging his until Harry sagged, useless and defeated, sobbing.

 

 When at last Fenrir relinquished his kiss-bruised and stubble-scraped mouth, Harry ducked his head down to hide his mortified face under the man’s chin, grateful that Fenrir didn’t speak of the angry, bitter tears on his cheeks. “Go away,” Harry growled, voice raspy, cracking. He shoved hard at Fenrir’s chest but the arms that held him in place did not budge.

 

 “No,” Fenrir grunted, his bigger, stronger arms around Harry only serving to make him feel worse, weaker, subdued, soft – _safe._ Except he couldn’t be safe. If Harry let Fenrir make him safe then Voldemort would never be defeated and he and Kirian, Echo, Draco, Marrok, Hermione, Ron…all of them would die, in the end. All of them would willingly die to keep him safe and he couldn’t let that happen.

 

 Even knowing that, Harry melted into the lie of warm muscle and pressed his nose into the man’s collarbone, breathing in through adrenaline and tear-shortened gasps. When his limbs stopped shaking and his tears had dried, he felt Fenrir release his hold on his neck and back. He eased Harry down onto the bed of scuffed up leaves and stared down at him.

 

 He didn’t ask what was wrong – Harry thought he must’ve assumed Harry was simply afraid of tomorrow in general, overwhelmed at the thought of having to leave his little bludger and of his friends being killed. He didn’t know, Harry _knew_ he couldn’t possibly know, because there was no one to tell him. That thought made relief tug slightly at his exhausted mind as he let his body splay out on the leaves, naked, pale and staring up at Fenrir distantly.

 

 The moon broke the clouds above, not full but still bright in the darkness. The feel of it on his skin, even through the veil of the trees and the pollution soothed his abraded senses, his soul until he could breathe easier. The light painted Fenrir’s face, so soft at that moment with his eyes bright and hair wild. He held himself up off Harry with his arms and tilted his head back, letting out a long, slow howl that reminded Harry of home.

 

 The sound trailed off into soft nothingness. Harry laid there silently, breath hitching every now and then from emotion and exhaustion. When at last Fenrir stopped to sniff softly at the air around them, he looked down and smoothed a hand through Harry's messy fringe, sweeping it back off his face in a gesture that was so tender for Fenrir that Harry couldn’t breathe for a second.

 

 There was movement to the side. Harry and Fenrir both turned their heads to see familiar shadows stepping out of the surrounding trees. The leaves rustled and crunched underfoot as Marrok, Raquelle, Hemming, Lupa and Larentia all stepped into the clearing. A silent moment of understanding swept through them all, like a small shudder that started at Harry and reverberated through all of them gathered there.

 

 Their pack-mates shrugged off their clothes and let their change take them, until five wolves padded towards them, greeting them both with brushes of muzzles against cheeks. They even snuffled softly at Harry's hair. Even Larentia’s grey wolf gave the remaining scratch at Harry's shoulder a quick lick before they all settled down around them, just as they did on a full moon, a large heap all piled together for warmth and comfort.

 

 Echo joined them in the small clearing, already a tawny wolf. Draco walked close to his side, Kirian in his arms. Harry felt his heart skip and he shifted up onto his elbows as they approached. Fenrir, who was still a man above him, leant back on his knees as they reached them. Draco flushed violently at the sight of Harry and Fenrir naked but said nothing, seeming to realise that this moment between their pack was more important than embarrassment and didn’t need words. He slipped Kirian down into Harry's arms – over careful but competent. 

 

 Kirian wriggled, eyes open and brow furrowed but untouched by tears. Just confused. Harry felt the tingling presence of a warming charm, _Draco’s_ warming charm wrapped around his little bludger’s skin and he whined softly, drawing his cub in close as Echo’s tawny coloured fur pressed against his back, closing the gap in the pile of wolves that had been left.

 

 Draco blinked down at them, still studiously avoiding Harry's nakedness as he dropped down to his knees. His wary silver eyes flicked to Echo, whose head was lifted enquiringly to the diminutive gap between his, Marrok and Harry's bodies. “If you dare tell anyone, Potter,” Draco murmured as he slid into the gap, still clothed. He curled against the soft fur of Echo’s belly until all of the pack were piled together, touching, warming, comforting…

 

 Harry didn’t truly register Draco’s words with his instincts humming gently at the surface, but he did smile slightly, almost understanding as he lay down himself. He rested his head against Draco’s shoulder blade, legs entangled with Raquelle’s fur and Fenrir wrapped around him platonically, warm skin and arms holding him close. Harry felt his mate’s human nose against his nape while the warmth of the pack seeped into his bones. Kirian fidgeted until Harry cradled him against his chest, one of Fenrir’s arms circling them both to steady his hold.

 

 With the anguish spilled in adrenaline and tears, he felt exhausted, limp surrounded by his pack and he stared up at the sky. He wished he could see the stars and the moon, feel them on his skin. A husky, inhuman huff against his nape disturbed his dark curls and he fidgeted. He watched as the large hand that had been resting on his hip lifted and twisted to the left in a leisurely swipe, before coming to rest against his stomach.

 

 A section of cloud and light pollution dissipated, as if being eaten away by acid, no, as if it were a billow of smoke being swatted away by a casual hand. The soothing warmth in his stomach licked at his chest, at his lungs and heart as the moonlight reached them at last, a few stars visible in the opening. The fur and flesh in their group rippled appreciatively. Their company and the knowledge that they were with him until the end chased the unease, the misery from his exhausted limbs. For now.

 

 Tired and aching, Harry pressed his nose into Kirian’s dark hair and inhaled, Fenrir’s hand smoothing through his fringe consolingly as the tears brimmed again. “Don’t want to leave you,” Harry managed quietly, voice rough with emotion and the wolf’s presence. Fenrir flattened his fringe back off his forehead, so that his stubbly kiss could graze against his scar – the one he’d always hated. The one he loathed even more now for what it meant.

 

 “Not leaving,” Fenrir grumbled, “Going to finish this tomorrow, then we’re going home.”

 

 Harry winced as if he’d been struck and turned awkwardly until his face was hidden underneath Fenrir’s chin, Kirian cradled between their chests. Fenrir’s fingers cupped the back of his neck and massaged until his body went limp again, the tension ebbing from his bones. They all lay there quietly for some time.

 

 

 Only Mrs Weasley, Ron and Hermione were in the kitchen by the time they all headed back. Echo, Harry, Fenrir and Draco walked into the warm bright kitchen that smelled wonderfully of crumpets, toast and hot cocoa. “Isn’t chocolate bad for dogs?” Ron mused with a smirk as Harry snatched up one of the large mugs and gulped some down. Harry laughed and took another gulp as he and Fenrir sat at the table, Kirian in Fenrir’s arms, sleeping soundly.

 

 Conversation continued easily at the table, a balm to his nerves, even if he wasn’t really paying attention. Across the room, beyond the notice of everyone but him it seemed, Echo sloped toward where Draco was buttering himself some toast and wrapped his arms around the blond’s neck. Harry wasn’t sure who blushed more profusely, himself or Draco as Echo pressed in to breathe against Draco’s ear, obviously murmuring something for his ears only.

 

 Draco exhaled visibly, audibly (to werewolves anyway) and Echo swept a stray lock of hair from his face, snatching one of the slices of toast for himself before heading up the stairs. Harry watched Draco eat the remaining slice with flushed features and a pensive expression. Only when he dusted his hands of crumbs over the bread board did he begin to follow. Harry got to his feet quickly, ignoring Hermione and Ron’s enquiries and moving to catch Draco before he vanished up the stairs.

 

 “Draco,” he said and the blond turned, foot on the second stair. He blushed darker, obviously realising Harry knew where he’d been going and lifted his chin defiantly.

 

 “What do you want, Potter?” he asked tersely. “I…I have things to…” His voice failed him and he glanced hesitantly to where those gathered at the table were now watching them. He cleared his throat awkwardly and lowered his voice for Harry's ears only. “With you two romping around in a bush, according to Weasley, you can hardly blame me for wanting to–”

 

 “What?” Harry gasped, “What? No, _no_ , I just…” Why was even the simplest of conversations with Malfoy so difficult? He sighed, frustrated and tired, emotionally drained. “No, you…you _go,_ I just…” He bit the inside of his mouth uncertainly. “I just wanted to tell you that I’ll tell everyone to try and spare your parents. To spare them if they can. I know your father doesn’t have a wand at least so they should listen really and…” He saw Draco’s eyes shadowed with concern, with uncertainty and Harry acted on instinct, he reached up and grasped Draco’s shoulder. He squeezed. “We’ll do our best to keep them safe. I just wanted you to know that.”

 

 Harry could see the gratitude there, but also the pride. He understood when Draco inclined his head in a short nod of gratitude, before hesitantly vanishing up the stairs after Echo.

 

 When Harry took his seat again at the table, Hermione was elbow-deep in her magic bag and Ron was dunking a digestive biscuit into his hot cocoa. “What’choo lookin’ for?” Ron asked through a mouthful of biscuit as Harry wordlessly accepted Kirian back into his arms – Fenrir seemed to know that he needed him right now, for that he was grateful. Fenrir’s hand rested on the back of his chair afterward, thumb brushing between his shoulder blades in a constant, slow and soothing circle.

 

 Mrs Weasley said nothing, just smiled at Harry and carried on with her knitting – she was making Kirian his first Weasley jumper apparently. Harry smiled thoughtfully at the light blue wool. At last Hermione made a triumphant sound and dragged a familiar backpack out of her too-small bag. Harry's stomach flipped at the sight of it.

 

 “My bag!” he cried as Hermione slid it across the table to him. Supporting Kirian in one arm, he pulled open the flap to see the meagre yet precious treasures of his life – the inanimate ones anyway. His fingertips ghosted over each one, even the broken shard of mirror until it came to rest on the photo album. His breath hitched. He slid it out onto the table. When he lifted the cover and the image of his parents and one-year-old self smiled up at him, his breath died in his throat. It was the same thing all over again, wasn’t it?

 

 He felt sick.

 

 Fenrir’s thumb pressed a little more firmly into his back and he leant back against it, reminding himself that Kirian wouldn’t be alone and unloved. Not like him. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, the echo of the moon on his skin strengthening his resolve as he looked up at Mrs Weasley. “You’re good at snaps, Mrs Weasley,” he began. “I haven’t got any of Kirian yet, would you?”

 

 Mrs Weasley looked surprised for a moment, even dropping a stitch in her knitting. Then she looked down at the little waving photograph family and smiled knowingly. Without knowing Harry's true thought process though, Harry realised as she picked up her stitch, then set her knitting aside to get to her feet.

 

 “We have a camera somewhere – we’ve taken lots of Teddy over the last few months,” Hermione said helpfully. Ron watched Harry over his cup of cocoa so seriously for a moment that he lost half his soggy biscuit in his cup. The soft ‘plonk’ startled him out of his pensiveness and he swore softly as he used the nearby teaspoon to rescue it.

 

 Fenrir was flicking through the photo album distantly, his large fingers so careful with the delicate pages. Harry had seen photographs in their den of course of Fenrir’s family, they’d never been spoken about but they were there. Harry remembered his own interest at the sight of Fenrir’s parents and siblings, of a young Fenrir and Echo, Marrok and Ulric. He wondered what Fenrir was thinking as he scanned the happy faces of his parents, Sirius, a young Remus and then his own snaps of his early days at Hogwarts.

 

 Fenrir’s coarse finger slid over the marred face of Bill Weasley in the group shot of all the Weasleys, Harry, Hagrid, Remus, Tonks and Hermione at the wedding. Harry thought Hermione must’ve added it because he’d never seen this particular one. They all looked so happy. Fleur looked stunning. Harry had each of his arms looped around Ron and Hermione’s shoulders but he knew Fenrir was looking at Bill, he could tell from the regret he felt tugging at his own lungs as if it were his own.

 

 “Casualties of war,” Mrs Weasley’s voice came regretfully from just to the side of them. Both Harry and Fenrir glanced up to see her wistful, sad expression. “Severus Snape took George’s ear off with that curse as well you know – was aiming for the death eater that got Mad-Eye. Doesn’t fix his ear of course, knowing that it wasn’t intentional but…”

 

 She stared at Harry for a long time before meeting Fenrir’s guarded expression. “Even when saying sorry can’t repair the damage, a man can only offer an apology and make amends.” It wasn’t an _‘it’s all alright now’_ or even _a ‘it will be ok’_ , but it was still more than Harry could ask for. It made him wonder exactly what Fenrir had said when he’d spoken with Mr and Mrs Weasley about Bill…

 

 “Say _kneazle_!” Hermione cried suddenly from in front of them and Harry and Fenrir both looked up at her in time to catch a flash from the camera. Fenrir blinked and grumbled without any real bitterness, both Harry and him glancing down to see Kirian was still sleeping on.

 

 Harry had always hated posing, even when it was him asking for the photographs. It felt awkward and embarrassing to hold a pose so he didn’t. He shifted Kirian up on his knee higher and glanced occasionally up at Fenrir, then at Hermione snapping away with the camera again. He couldn’t help but notice that Fenrir was just as awkward at being the subject as he was. It was quite endearing, really, when he was so confident and cocksure in everything else. Harry tried to hide his smile, though he had a feeling the camera caught it.

 

 This was right. This was the way he wanted Kirian to remember him, to see him with Fenrir, whatever else the world might try to make him believe. At that moment Kirian woke with a grumbling gurgle, dummy dropping out of his mouth and Harry shifted him into a more comfortable position in the crook of his arm. Fenrir leant in a little and Harry was reassured that whatever came after he was gone, Kirian would know just by looking that he was loved.

 

 Harry felt something like a knife twist painfully in his chest and stubbornly bit back the thought, unwilling to break. _It’s all for you,_ he thought, fear and sadness bubbling in his chest. He swallowed more determinedly and glanced up at Fenrir, not realising how close the man was. He could feel the man’s breath on his skin and flushed, knowing Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley were watching.

 

  _Snap. Flash._ The camera whirred and Harry exhaled shakily. _For both of you,_ he amended.

 

 “He wants feeding,” Fenrir said after a while, when Mrs Weasley had gone up to join her husband and Ron and Hermione were enjoying their last cup of tea with him. Harry nodded, passing Kirian into Fenrir’s arms.

 

 “I’ll join you in a sec, yeah?” he said, gesturing to their hollow. Fenrir looked confused for a moment, but then he seemed to remember Ron and Hermione at the table. With a nod, he ducked his head just a little to enter the oversized cupboard with Kirian and pulled the curtain closed behind him.

 

 Harry looked to his two best friends. “I…I just wanted…” he hesitated, not knowing exactly how to say everything he felt needed to be said. He bit at the inside of his already sore mouth. “I know a lot has happened but I’m…” Why did it hurt so much? Why was it so hard? “You’ve both always been there. Always and even now when you don’t really understand entirely, you’ve still got my back. You’re still…”

 

 Before he knew it, Hermione’s hand had shot across the table, grabbing his fingers tightly and squeezing, her eyes shining. “Oh, Harry,” she gasped. She was afraid of tomorrow too, so afraid for him, Ron, the others, herself. Beautiful, clever Hermione was terrified and Ron, he was too, one hand on Hermione’s shoulder while the other curled on the tabletop awkwardly – as if he wanted to mimic Hermione’s motion and reassure Harry in some way but wasn’t certain how to do that in a masculine way.

 

 Harry smirked knowingly and flicked Ron on the knuckle hard. The red-head’s mouth twisted with a pensive expression. Knowing.

 

 “I let you down once,” Ron said firmly. “Never again. No matter what, alright?”

 

 Harry nodded slowly. “You’ve never let me down. Not really.” He wished there were a less mawkish way of saying he loved them both, as much as he loved Kirian, just differently. Because using those exact words would make Hermione cry and Ron fidget in that way he did. But then Hermione’s fingers tightened round his and Ron set his own on top of both of theirs and Harry knew that they knew. It didn’t need words.

 

 When eventually his two friends left the kitchen and he extinguished the lights with a flick of his hand, Harry ducked into the hollow. Fenrir was leaning against the back wall, head bowed, breathing shallow and Kirian laying grumpily in his arms. It was very rare that he ever saw Fenrir fall asleep. In all the months they’d been together he could count on his hand the times it’d happened.

 

 Slowly, Harry eased onto his haunches and stared at Fenrir’s face. It was lined, face stubble trimmed neatly and lower lip slightly fuller than the upper. His jaw was quite square, neck thick and his hair had spilled forward from the angle of his head. Using one hand to caress Kirian’s furrowed forehead reassuringly, Harry leant forward on his knees and traced the fingers of the other hand across Fenrir’s slightly parted lips.

 

 Harry exhaled slowly, shakily, his chest tight and eyes burning. This man had turned him, had let his own instincts take over and awaken something in him without his permission. He’d saved Harry from Voldemort, yes, but he’d dragged him into another bad situation. Even if it was his instincts that had urged him to do so.

 

  _You always make the best of a bad situation,_ Ron’s voice said in his head. He frowned. Maybe that was how it started, Merlin only knew Fenrir wasn’t the most moral of men. But he was… _good._ No more evil or corrupt than many of the wizards Harry knew and no matter how you spun it, that’d been the only thing Fenrir had forced him to do.

 

  _It might’ve been a bad situation to start with,_ Harry thought, grazing that stubbly jaw with the pads of his fingers, memorising the arch, staring at that mouth that had said such cruel and also such beautiful things. It wasn’t the mouth of a monster. _I found something else since then, though._ And he knew it wasn’t prisoner syndrome or whatever Remus had suggested at first, because he gave Fenrir as good as he got. Because they were equal, because Harry, at his heart hadn’t changed. Only grown stronger.

 

 Suddenly those lips shifted to meet his fingers and Harry glanced up to see blue eyes staring at him in the dimness of their makeshift den. “Hi,” he murmured falteringly, feeling oddly shy at being caught staring. Fenrir only turned his head into Harry's hand in answer, not saying a word. There were no words.

 

 Harry felt that rush again, the tightness in his chest that threatened to choke the life from him. He almost wished it would because he couldn’t stand this feeling, this knowledge that he had only a limited time to say everything he needed to say, even the things he hadn’t quite figured out himself. He had no idea what to say to Fenrir.  There was just too much to say, too much he didn’t understand and that just hurt even more. He clenched his eyes shut and buried his nose against the man’s shoulder, inhaling deeply.

 

 Fenrir’s hand cupped the back of his neck, squeezing gently like it always did. Harry's left hand slid down to grip at the opposite shoulder, digging in when he felt the emotion swell.

 

 “No regrets?” Fenrir’s hoarse, gravelly voice murmured against his ear.

 

 Not trusting his voice, Harry just shook his head. No regrets. Even the worst things in the last few months had been worth it because he’d never felt so strong, so at home, so… _free_. Accepted. Home. No regrets. He wanted to cry. He hated it. He grit his teeth. “Fenrir,” he began raggedly. Fenrir’s hand gripped his nape tighter.

 

 “I know, pet,” he said quietly, firmly, as if anything Harry said would break what little resolve he had too. A man who couldn’t bear emotions and him, Harry, who had never been taught to express them. _What a bloody pair we are,_ Harry thought, giving a soft, bitter laugh against the juncture of Fenrir’s expansive shoulder.

 

 “You’re everything,” Fenrir said, even softer against Harry's ear, so hoarse and quiet that Harry thought he didn’t _want_ to be heard. “The earth, the sun, the moon, the stars…” He gripped Harry tighter, until Harry winced and then the wolf let his hand slide up to grip Harry's hair at the back of his head. Just like the gentle licks were Fenrir’s version of a kiss, Harry knew what these words meant as well and it hurt. It hurt so much he couldn’t move. They stayed like that for a long time.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 “You are the greediest git,” Harry complained without any real annoyance, shifting Kirian on his lap as he latched onto his nipple with a bit more voracity than was necessary. Harry was alone with him in the kitchen while everyone readied themselves. The rowdy breakfast had been a battle all on its own but he thought that it helped Mrs Weasley to distract herself at the very least, catering for so many. Kreacher had been thrilled.

 

 The photo album sat in front of him on the table and Harry cradled Kirian with one arm while using the other hand to push the photos Hermione had handed him that morning into place. He could not help but be embarrassed by the openness Hermione had somehow managed to catch. But then, just as he could see so plainly in all of the photos of his parents how in love they’d been, Kirian would be able to see whatever it was that he and Fenrir shared too.

 

  _Maybe he’ll have better luck figuring it out than us two,_ Harry thought distantly, dropping the photo in favour of catching Kirian’s milky belch with the blanket rather than his shirt.

 

 “Nice save,” said a voice from the doorway. Harry glanced up, startled to see Ginny leaning against the doorframe that lead up out of the kitchen. She looked…wistful, perhaps a bit resigned with sadness touching on her too-bright, red rimmed eyes. But she smiled as she crossed the room, coming to stand beside him. Harry returned her smile, sheepishly swiping at Kirian’s mouth, grateful (not for the first time) that the blanket’s magic fibres seemed to absorb and dissipate any mess or dirt.

 

 “Still got those seeker reflexes,” he mused, hesitating when Kirian gurgled in frustration and tried to turn back to latch on again. Harry glanced up from beneath his fringe. Ginny was watching carefully still, staring at Kirian with a far-off look on her face. Eventually Kirian began to fuss though and he had no choice but to shift and let him latch on again greedily. Harry waited with bated breath, not daring to look up at the girl he’d once thought he’d share everything with.

 

 “It’s so strange to see you doing that,” she said in the end, with a voice soft and confused. Harry forced himself to look at her, finding her expression touched only by longing sadness where he’d thought he’d see disgust. He flushed, shifting Kirian’s blanket up to cover his face and the area in question, he seemed to feed more comfortably without the light in his eyes anyway. Perhaps that or he could just sense Harry was more at ease with himself covered.

 

 “It feels weird,” Harry admitted, mouth quirking to the side in a smirk. To his relief, Ginny reciprocated, albeit distantly. “Gin,” he began, but she lifted her hand a fraction to stay his words.

 

 “Harry, it’s… Don’t,” she said with a wince, again, her voice still calm. “I’m really… You don’t need to apologise. I’d rather you didn’t.” She looked stubborn, almost fierce in her determination. Harry nodded. He supposed there was nothing that could be helped by apologising and besides which, he couldn’t really have done anything differently.

 

 “He’s so little,” Ginny said at last, when the silence drew on, leaving her standing over him uncomfortably. Harry watched her hand extend hesitantly, slowly edging forwards to brush the backs of her fingers against Kirian’s dark head of hair. She gave an unsteady exhalation. “It’s just so bizarre, seeing you with a baby. Not…not in a horrible way just…like…”

 

 Harry glanced up again in time to see her mouth twist uncertainly in search of words. “I know what you mean,” he said, “don’t worry.” He watched her pale, slender fingers stroke Kirian’s head gently for a moment longer, before they reached for the photograph that had been left abandoned halfway into its fixings on the page. A photograph of Harry, Fenrir and Kirian all looking at the camera, until the former two stole a glance at each other. There was an embarrassing warmth there that made Harry’s flush darken as he watched Ginny look on it.

 

 “You never looked at me like that,” she said. Her voice wasn’t accusing or angry, only sad, longing still.

 

 Harry fidgeted in his chair. “He’s…different.”

 

 Ginny laughed. It was a lovely sound and for a moment Harry was reminded why he’d wanted to be with her. She sighed as her laughter faded and met his eyes. “You’re more confident when you’re with him. Powerful. Assertive, even. I can’t say I agree with him awakening the werewolf in you without your consent, how could I? But he comes from somewhere a lot different to us and…” She looked lost and unsure of what to say for the first time in her life. She sighed again.

 

 “I honestly don’t think any of us can understand it or him because we weren’t there. But looking at you with him, looking at you now – this isn’t the face of a prisoner or a…a _rape_ victim, a victim of conditioning. You’re not afraid of him. You’re not afraid to stand up to him even when Ron said he nearly pissed himself the other day-”

 

 “Ron _admitted_ that?” he asked, surprised.

 

 Ginny smirked. “He didn’t put it quite like that,” she confessed. “But you’re not…you’re not his victim, or his prisoner.”

 

 Harry stared at her for a moment more before glancing to the photograph. Hadn’t Ron and everyone else said that he had Fenrir wrapped around his finger? He didn’t think he’d go as far as to agree with that but he definitely wasn’t Fenrir’s whipped puppy. “Fenrir’s not perfect,” he said, “but he’s a good man. He’s shown me things about myself, about people…” He trailed off, not knowing what else to say apart from that. He fingered the edges of the photograph thoughtfully.

 

 “My dad, Dumbledore, Sirius, I loved them, you know? They all did some horrendous things in their time but the world…it isn’t black and white. It’s not separated into good people who’ve done no wrong and bad people who lie and cheat. Good people do bad things sometimes.”

 

 He thought back to the first few months after Dumbledore had died, all the things people had told him about the man he’d always looked up to, the things he’d discovered from Doge and Skeeter’s book. He remembered how lost he’d felt when he’d realised that the man he’d set on a pedestal was in fact human, a human who’d made some very grave mistakes. Ones that had apparently hurt people.

 

 “I still love him,” he said absently, “in spite of everything.” He’d made some poor decisions; selfish, thoughtless decisions but Harry didn’t think that those few things could define a person. No matter how bad they were. Ginny set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently until he looked up at her. Her eyes were shining.

 

 “Greyback or Dumbledore?” she asked, but when Harry floundered for an answer, she just smiled knowingly, squeezed a fraction harder and then headed for the stairs. “See you upstairs,” she said, and then she was gone.

 

 Harry exhaled shakily, rocking his little bludger in one arm when he pawed at him as he sucked. “Sssh,” Harry consoled, setting the last picture into place before staring at it thoughtfully. It didn’t feel like the end. He felt detached, numb and so lost in the dilemmas that had grown louder in his thoughts daily now; how he felt about Fenrir, what he was going to do when this was all over. He didn’t feel worried or even afraid of what was about to happen, it didn’t feel like it was about to happen to him, but someone else entirely.

 

 On impulse, Harry summoned a scrap of parchment and a battered self-inking quill from one of the kitchen drawers and scribbled a note out quickly to Fenrir. When the ink had dried he slid it into the album and closed it neatly, pushing it to the middle of the table where he had no doubt Draco would discover it later. He was a nosy bastard, Harry thought affectionately, he knew he’d give it to Fenrir when it was all over.

 

 Sitting back in his chair, Harry pulled the blanket back from Kirian’s face and looked into big green eyes. They stared up at him with such wonder and curiosity. Harry smiled, savouring the connection for the last time without anyone there to make him remember he was embarrassed. “I never wanted to leave you behind like my mum and dad did me,” he murmured softly, tracing Kirian’s brow with his thumb, brushing a wayward curl from his face. Kirian blinked but continued to suck.

 

 “I don’t suppose you’ll even remember me,” Harry continued, heart aching at the thought. “I know you weren’t exactly planned and I’ve probably made a right mess of things, but I love you. Your Dad, Draco and Echo and everyone will tell you that and…” He stopped, because it hurt and because it felt too real if he kept speaking.

 

 His eyes burned and his chest stung. His throat was dry and sore. He felt sick. Inhaling determinedly, he remained quiet from then on, wondering exactly what Fenrir, Draco, Echo and the rest of the pack would tell his son about him, when he was old enough to understand.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 Harry felt his stomach lurch as his feet slammed hard into solid ground after the sickening pull of something that (whatever Snape said to the contrary) felt _exactly_ like apparition. He nearly stumbled forward as their entire group touched down again, his vision and sense of gravity whirling for a moment until Fenrir’s large hand gripped his shoulder and steadied him.

 

 “Alright?” Fenrir asked, voice tense, uneasy.

 

 Harry nodded, reaching up and laying his hand over Fenrir’s for a moment as he waited for the dizziness and the feeling that his stomach was in his throat to dissipate. Snape was right next to them, Harry realised when he could see straight again. Those dark eyes were regarding Harry with a curious expression and Harry frowned. “Professor?” he asked.

 

 Snape seemed to come back to himself at his concern and he straightened, gripping his wand tighter. “Are you ready, Potter?” he asked quietly as Hermione, Ron, the pack and the Order gathered in close, glancing around the dark cavern they had arrived in. It was cold and dark, Harry could see just fine but he’d bet the human members of their group were straining slightly, especially since they dared not light their wands.

 

 Snape, for his part seemed unconcerned. He’d obviously been here before. Harry stared straight into his professor’s eyes, mind flooded with all the things he longed to say, longed to ask and now time had been cut cruelly short. He thought he saw the same regret in Snape’s dark eyes too.

 

 “I’m ready, Sir,” Harry confirmed after the smallest delay, glancing quickly to Ron, Hermione and Remus, then to Echo and the pack. “I take it we’re in the right place?”

 

 Snape took a few steps to the left, towards a door that stood ajar. “The Dark Lord has used this place many times. I believe Wormtail gloated that this was the cave he nursed the Dark Lord back to health in, before he was well enough to be taken to Little Hangleton. He has expanded, of course. But the Dark Lord has a peculiar sense of humour and irony. He was once so weak here and now…” Snape glanced around at the cavern they were in, empty except for a few shackles and racks. Harry shivered, not wanting to think about how many people had been held and tortured here.

 

 “You apparated us into a bloody prison?!” One of the order hissed at Snape.

 

 With a derisive sneer of distaste, Snape looked back to the door. “It is not apparition,” he corrected, with the same mild irritation Harry had heard him use countless times back at Hogwarts. “I followed the thread of the dark mark. I pulled out just before we reached _Him._ It should give us the element of surprise, I hope.”

 

 Harry nodded in agreement and approached the door, Fenrir, Snape, Hermione and Ron close behind. He dropped down to his haunches and peered out of the crack in the door that stood ajar. The tunnel outside was wide and dry, illuminated by otherworldly green flames that burned in torches all the way along. There were no shadows to cling to, corners or crevices, the walls had been rendered smooth and flat. They shimmered glistening grey in the unnatural emerald firelight.

 

 “Like snakeskin,” Harry whispered, Fenrir’s warmth firmly against his back.

 

 “As I said,” Snape said, by his way of agreement, “humour.”

 

 Harry thought he saw a flicker of pride in those dark eyes, pride for him, not Voldemort, but it was gone as soon as he’d seen it. He smiled softly at his once-Professor. “The tunnel forks ahead,” Harry noted. “Which way will he be?”

 

 Snape’s face twisted in disgust. “He’s fashioned himself a throne room of sorts to the left. He likes to pace in there like Mad King Lear.”

 

 Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw him watching, as if challenging him to say he didn’t know who that was. Harry smiled just slightly, not giving him the satisfaction. “Right, and how many Death Eaters patrol the caves?”

 

 “Many,” Snape replied simply. “But more will be spread throughout. They will crawl out of the woodwork once they know something is occurring and close in behind us.”

 

 Movement sounded behind him and Harry glanced back to see Remus edging toward him. “We’ll go first,” he said softly, “Draw them out, then once you’re through we’ll close up behind you like a swarm of bees.”

 

 Harry hesitated, because the idea of anyone going ‘first’ seemed dangerous, the thought of someone potentially taking the first hit for him unbearable. But it had to be done. He winced.

 

 “Echo?” Fenrir said from his side, “You, Larentia and Marrok lead with Lupin, you can take the first spells if they get the first shot. Keep them safe, then when they all come running, close in behind us and hold up the rear, got it?”

 

 Echo said nothing, just nodded seriously.

 

 Harry grasped at Hermione’s wrist. “You two stay close until we get to the throne room. Hemming and the others will stick with you and make sure any Death Eaters in there already don’t interfere. Harry’s heart was thudding a little faster now. A single trail of perspiration slid down his neck between his shoulder blades. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, prepare himself somehow.

 

 Closing his eyes tightly, he thought of that morning, of Kirian’s sleeping face as he pushed him reluctantly into Draco’s arms. The pang of longing sharpened his resolve and he grit his teeth tightly. It was a struggle to remember anything inspirational or any words of encouragement. He wondered what Dumbledore would’ve said to inspire those gathered behind him, waiting to follow him into battle.

 

 A soft, familiar soothing growl resonated in his ear, Fenrir’s rough, inhuman hum that sent a ripple of ease through him. Harry slowly rose to his feet as the sound carried through his bones. He released Hermione’s wrist so that he could press back slightly against Fenrir’s flank as he stared into the dimness, at everyone who was willing to follow him and knew he had to do this. He had to. There was no room for error.

 

 “Let’s go,” he said and with a final glance up at Fenrir, he checked that the coast was clear and pushed the door open.

 

 Wearing their human skins, Echo, Larentia and Marrok slid out into the tunnel, to check the coast was clear before Remus and the Order followed. Harry held his breath as he watched them go, all three of them sticking flat to the glistening wall until they got to the fork. Slowly they peeled away from the wall, darting glances down one tunnel then the other. Everyone in the prison held their breath, poised on the tips of their toes, ready to launch forward.

 

 After a few torturous moments, Marrok stepped further into the fork and scanned both sides a final time, before looking directly back at where Harry, Fenrir and Snape were prepared in the doorway, waiting for his signal. He raised a hand and as his large dark fingers began to curl in signal, a sharp black spark ripped through the cavern.

 

 “No!” Harry screamed as it sliced through Marrok’s shoulder, sparking as is bolted through his flesh and sent an electrical, spider web of midnight black magic through his entire right side. He jerked where he stood, thrown up onto the tips of his toes before he collapsed on the hard floor. The stone glistened like snake scales as his blood pooled around him.

 

 “Go!” Snape cried. Harry felt him move, felt the crowd behind him surge forward, pour out into the tunnel, wands raised as he knelt there. Stunned, his eyes focussed on Marrok’s wide eyes and mouth moving with panicked, choked pain. Fenrir seized him by the scruff and dragged him forwards, Harry’s legs scrabbling for purchase as they hurtled across the ground.

 

 “Harry!” Ron’s voice called but Harry could not turn, could not escape Fenrir’s firm grip until he dropped him at Marrok’s side.

 

 “Get up!” Fenrir snarled at his omega, seizing Marrok roughly by his uninjured shoulder and flipping him onto his knees. Harry, who’d landed on his hands and knees on the stone watched as Fenrir dug his claws in hard, pinning Marrok’s body to the unforgiving floor when it started to spasm like a creature possessed.

 

 “Shift you fucking pillock and force the magic out of you!” Fenrir roared as the battle waged around them. The Order and werewolves clashed with Death Eaters as they spilled into the corridor, wands blazing with a myriad of deathly lights. There was chaos all around them and Harry heard Ron and Hermione’s voices, heard Snape’s as he crawled forward, hands hovering uselessly over Marrok’s shoulder where it sparked.

 

 “The dark magic has him in shock,” Larentia hissed as she dropped down next to Harry. “He can’t get a grip on himself to shift.”

 

 “Will he be able to heal it if he changes?” Harry gasped frantically.

 

 Larentia looked grim. “He could if he shifted before the magic spreads,” she said, gesturing with her chin to where the spider web of dark, glowing light was spreading downward across his chest and arm now.

 

 Suddenly a spell zipped past them, narrowly missing Harry’s nose and slamming hard into the wall opposite, obliterating a chunk that made the wall tremble.

 

 “We have to get out of here – we have to get to the Dark Lord!” Snape’s harsh, insistent voice said from somewhere above. Harry winced, he couldn’t, Marrok needed to change, he needed to–

 

 “Change now you sack of shit!” Fenrir growled, voice breaking with fear in a way only Harry could sense as he slammed his fist hard into the back of Marrok’s neck. “Your alpha commands it!”

 

 Marrok’s fitting body stilled immediately, his pupils dilating.

 

 “Harry!” Hermione screamed, her desperation making Harry’s head shoot up, just in time to see a glaring red curse flying straight for his face.

 

 Larentia morphed before Harry could even draw breath. A flash of fur covered his vision as she leapt into the light, a wolf, taking the spell square in the chest and rolling with it, staggering upward again with the same motion. She threw her head to the side, staring at Harry with a look that could only say one thing. _Go_!

 

 Two different sets of hands hauled him upward then. Ron and Hermione, following Snape’s lead dragged Harry’s resisting body away from where Fenrir, who remained kneeling over his pack mate, shoving roughly, commandingly at his frighteningly still limbs. Harry’s lips parted to call out to him but then Snape was in front of him, gripping his head between two surprisingly strong hands. His ashen face blocked Harry’s view of the wall of people that stood between them and the Death Eaters.

 

 “Focus, Potter!” Snape demanded, face hard but eyes panicked as Harry had never seen them. “You are here to end this. If you do not, then we will all die down here!”

 

 Harry felt a sharp pain burst in his chest, as if someone had driven a lance through his ribcage. He heard Fenrir’s demanding voice, Remus’s commands to the Order. Howls and inhuman snarls of the pack ripped through the chaos. Harry’s legs shook but he pressed down into them, forcing them to steady.

 

 Obviously seeing the determination in Harry’s face, Snape, released his head and started down the tunnel again. “We have to move,” he said, “quickly now.”

 

 Hemming and Raquelle moved alongside them, providing a shield against curses from either side as they went. Harry looked back over his shoulder at the battle. The chaos had swallowed up Marrok but Fenrir was still shouting at him, trying to force his shift, trying to save his life. There was still hope. There was still…

 

  _It’s better this way,_ Harry thought as he kept running, facing front now, trying to keep up with Snape, Ron, Hermione and the wolves either side. _He won’t see you die, like his family._ Biting down on the swell of emotion that threatened to rise up, he ran harder, wand tight in his hand.

 

 “How far is it?” he asked Snape, voice only slightly ragged with his running, firm and low with newly hardened resolve.

 

 Snape glanced to him very quickly. “Just ahead. He’ll have heard the commotion. I have a plan to get you close enough.”

 

 Harry saw the solid silver doors ahead and didn’t dare look away – just in case he couldn’t bring himself to face them again. “I trust you,” he said, honesty ringing true in his voice.

 

 They came to a halt just outside the closed doors, catching their breath. He looked to Hermione and Ron, red-faced with running but ready, Hemming and Raquelle like loyal guards either side. Harry nodded in thanks to them. “Keep them safe,” he said to the wolves, meaning his two best friends, who were less resilient to curses. He stared down the tunnel, the sound of the battle carrying through the glistening walls.

_Fenrir_ , he thought. He’d not even got to say goodbye. But then, he supposed if he’d tried to offer any kind of closure, Fenrir would’ve never have let him out of his sight. Still, longing lapped at his chest like the cold midnight ocean bit at the shore with each wave. _Fenrir, Kirian…_

When at last he fixed his eyes on Snape again, Harry thought the man was about to say something pivotal. Instead, in a tone markedly softer than Harry had ever heard him use before, the man said, “ready?” He didn’t need to wait for Harry’s answer. He continued, “You four wait here out of sight. Do not move until we give the signal, no matter what you see.”

 

 Harry sensed the unease in his pack-mates, saw Ron and Hermione frown.

 

 “What’s the signal?” Ron asked.

 

 Harry tried to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “When my head hits the floor,” he said, and with that, he took the final step closer to Snape. He had anticipated his plan without the man uttering it and was unsurprised when long potion-stained fingers gripped the back of his neck firmly. He let Snape march him right up to the doors and drew in a deep breath.

 

 “I am sorry, Potter. I wish things were different,” Snape murmured, for Harry’s ears only, voice tight. Just for a moment, the fingers at Harry’s nape felt reassuring, squeezing the way Fenrir’s did, before maintaining their grip.

 

 “I know, Sir. I…I’m sorry too – for everything.” He tilted his head to look into Snape’s eyes one last time, before the man pushed the doors open. Harry clenched his eyes shut and the moment he felt different, more potent air on his face, the moment the door shut behind them, he began to struggle. Or to pretend to, at least.

 

 There were five people in the room. Lucius Malfoy was sprawled across the floor, still alive and twitching under the tell-tale after-effects of the _Cruciatus Curse_ , his wife bowed over him. Bellatrix stood just off to the side with her husband close by and on a slightly raised dais, before what Harry supposed Voldemort probably fancied his _throne_ , was the man himself.

 

 Long dark robes trailed behind Voldemort as he took a step forward, wand slightly raised. His red eyes flashed as he saw Harry, apparently being dragged into the centre of the room by a stone-faced Snape. “As promised, My Lord,” Snape said, voice dark and heavy with pride. “His rabble are back there – the others are taking care of them. They should be easy to pick off now that we have taken Greyback down, but here is the boy. I brought him to you before someone else could deprive you of the pleasure.”

 

 Voldemort’s face was unreadable as Snape pulled Harry into the centre of the room. To make it look good, Harry struggled to kick Snape, purposefully letting the man trip him up so he was literally dragged along his knees right to the foot of the dais, near Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Held firmly to his knees, Harry felt Snape’s reluctance to release him disguised as a sharp jerk to his hair, holding his head back so he had to look up at Voldemort.

 

 “Face your master, you insolent wretch,” Snape murmured forebodingly. Harry winced and struggled, secretly grateful for Snape’s hard grip on his hair. Snape was right there, he’d make sure this worked. He’d make sure everything that was happening back there in the tunnel wasn’t in vain…

 

 “I wonder, dear Severus, how the _‘rabble’_ found us in the first place?” Voldemort breathed dangerously.

 

 Harry felt his chest grow tight as the man swooped in, standing almost directly over him. He remembered that Fenrir was supposed to be ‘fallen’ and so his protection that now kept Voldemort’s presence itself from inflicting pain should be too. He clawed at his scar in a display of barely concealed pain, remembering the skull-splitting agony well-enough to make it convincing.

 

 “My Lord,” Snape said courteously, bowing his head slightly. He then looked to Lucius, “It seems you already know, of course. Far ahead of the rest of us as always. You must know that Draco Malfoy is one of them now? A werewolf’s whore as assuredly as Potter. Lucius probably thought that he could buy the wolves’ favour and get their son back…”

 

 Harry winced at the lie and the violation of Draco’s privacy at the same time. He glanced to Narcissa, the only one whose face he could see and noticed she didn’t look shocked by the mention of Draco. They probably _did_ have some sort of tapestry like the Black’s did at Grimmauld Place, showing Draco’s connection to Echo. He winced, wondering how that would all work out once this was over. He supposed he’d never know.

 

 “You accuse Lucius of letting them into our stronghold, Severus?” Voldemort asked carefully.

 

 Snape gripped Harry’s neck tighter. “My Lord, it can only be him. Who else would invite werewolves in? Who else has been driven so low, so desperate to…?”

 

 Voldemort held up a hand, his free hand and Snape fell silent. “Lucius himself just burst in here to accuse _you_ of the crime,” he said. “You see where his accusations to my intelligence have gotten him? You have always been my favourite, Severus, but be careful how you speak to me.”

 

 Snape bowed lower and pushed Harry forward, as if he were a peace offering. _Just do it,_ Harry thought with gritted teeth. _Just fucking do it already!_

 

 Suddenly the familiar rip of legilimency tore through his mind. Harry cried out, unprepared for the assault of Voldemort through his mind. It made him feel helpless and useless and fifteen again. He struggled in Snape’s grip like a worm on a hook, but it was nothing more than an act. Fenrir’s connection burned brightly in Harry’s head, unseen by anyone but him and he withdrew behind its protection. He pushed forward images of Echo and Draco standing together, images of Fenrir being swallowed up by the masses as he knelt at Marrok’s side, anything that he could think of that would aid Snape’s story.

 

 Against his wishes Harry pushed a few embarrassing images of himself and Fenrir, of Kirian and their pack, just in case, just so Voldemort wouldn’t suspect he was hiding something. When Voldemort finally drew back, Harry was gasping for air like a man half-drowned, limp and weak in Snape’s grasp. He groaned in very real pain, sweaty and reeling from the agonising violation. His head was throbbing.

 

 “It’s difficult to decide who I should end first,” Voldemort said smoothly, looking between Lucius and Harry thoughtfully. “The traitor or the _chosen one_.”

 

 Mind heavy, spiralling with Kirian and Fenrir, Ron and Hermione and everyone he loved, Harry wrenched himself out of Snape’s grip and spat at Voldemort’s feet. “You can’t break me, _Tom Riddle_ ,” he snarled venomously. He sounded braver than he felt, his insides tight, his stomach churning. Only sheer bloody-mindedness and Gryffindor recklessness kept his jaw tight and his voice even.

 

 “You couldn’t break me before and you can’t touch me now. You weren’t even the one to catch me – Snape was. There’s a whole army behind me of wolves and wizards and when they step in here and see me at your feet, _still_ defying you, that’ll be all they need to find the strength to finish you.”

 

 A sharp, blinding pain lashed across his face and he grunted, biting down on his tongue and tasting blood as he tried to stifle his cry. He felt blood weep down his cheek and his skin hum warningly as he watched Voldemort’s hand draw back from the blow. There was an odd-looking, glowing silver knife in his hand. Harry’s blood painted the blade, hissing and fizzing, causing soft furls of smoke to rise from its razor sharp edge.

 

  _Real silver,_ Harry thought, knowing now why it’d hurt so much. He could feel his skin bubbling as if he’d been sliced with a white-hot branding iron. He could not help but convulse and struggle stifle a scream as he stared up at Voldemort, defiant. Everything had changed since he’d been suspended in wire and needles at Voldemort’s feet all those months ago, yet he still felt the same. He was still terrified. He felt sick with the fear and it was a struggle not to shiver with it. He didn’t feel brave, only determined to end this.

 

 “A wand is far too neat for you, Harry, especially after all the mess you have made of my plans over the years,” Voldemort breathed softly, red eyes blazing, nostrils flaring as he seized Harry by his hair and hauled him to his feet. Harry’s hands hung limp at his sides but he stared unwaveringly into those eyes as the monster hissed, “this is a much more fitting end.”

 

 Harry saw the silver of the blade as Voldemort held it in front of his eyes. It looked like a basilisk fang anointed with silver and with a handle mostly covered by Voldemort’s sleeve. Trust him to pick something so Slytherin. Harry grunted but gave no other betrayal of fear, even if he felt like he wanted to piss himself. He didn’t feel brave. He wanted to cry but the heat from the silver so close to his skin made his tear ducts dry up. He swore he felt his eyelashes and eyebrows being singed. His skin hummed as if close to an electric current.

 

 “I am going to slit open your throat,” Voldemort hissed with morbid delight, eyes dancing. He brought the knife to Harry’s cut cheek and pressed in, twisting shallowly, spitefully so that Harry was choking on the need to scream, barely holding on.

 

 Voldemort was still speaking. “It’s going to hurt so much, it’s a painful way to die, after all. It’s going to be agony and so messy. It’ll take an _age_ and as you are lying there in a puddle of your own blood, spluttering and sobbing like a slaughtered pig, your friends will come in and see you, my victory and they will know it is over.”

 

  _Mum, Dad,_ Harry thought helplessly, fighting to keep his eyes open now, breathing hard on purpose to try and get through it as Voldemort laughed at him, mocked his sacrifice. _I’m scared._

The burning heat of the blade was against his neck now, so close that he swore his skin was bubbling again, but still not touching. He did whimper, he did grunt, he couldn’t help it. But he did not close his eyes. _Finish me you fucking snake,_ he snarled in his mind, the ferocity helping him to hold onto the cries of pain that were suffocating him now.

 

 “When you see your sweet Dumbledore, be sure to tell him that it was all in vain,” Voldemort breathed, “that I won.”

 

 Gritting his teeth hard, Harry forced himself to stare into Voldemort’s eyes. “You didn’t beat him either though did you though? That was Draco and Snape.” The satisfaction of seeing Voldemort so incensed was almost enough to numb the pain, almost.

 

 It burned. Harry had never felt so much pain. Voldemort pressed the knife in, twisting in a long, slow, searing slice that burned and cut his flesh at the same time. He wanted to scream, his face contorted with agony but the shock of the pain silenced him. He couldn’t breathe.

 

 The moments that followed were drawn out in painful slow-motion, whirring around his hazed mind, stretching out into infinity until he was mentally begging for the end. The silver twisted beneath his skin as if it were a layer of pastry, dragging out thick rivulets of blood that he felt roll down over his collarbone and chest. His entire body went cold and began to quiver in Voldemort’s grasp as it dragged cleanly to the other side of his throat.

 

 Harry’s voice found him then, escaping in a revolting gurgle of terrified pain. He dug his fingers hard into Voldemort’s wrists, tried to kick out at him to make him let go but his body was no longer his to control. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head until all he could see was the garish green light of the torches and Snape’s hard, ashen expression. He knew Snape needed to remain in place until he was dead, needed to stay as close as possible to Voldemort so he could finish him but still, Harry stared at him, wishing the pain would stop.

 

 He was fourteen in the graveyard again, watching Cedric die, being bound to the tombstone as he watched the face of his nightmares come back into being. It was that and worse because he couldn’t breathe and he was shaking all over, out of control. His throat was on fire and sizzling, bleeding boiling hot blood out of his icy skin – ice that seemed to be spreading all over. He couldn’t feel his fingers as he instinctively reached up to try and stop the bleeding. He clenched his eyes shut again, afraid, so afraid, holding onto reality, to life like a decapitated snake as Voldemort’s laughter rung through his pounding head.

 

 Dying. He was dying. Where was he going? Would he see his mum and dad again? Dumbledore? Sirius? Was he going anywhere? He clenched his eyes tight as he spluttered and choked for air, his chest tight and cold as stone. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe! Bloody someone help him! He was so afraid. Death was like the fingers of a hundred dementors clawing at him spitefully, dragging harder, deeper. The floor felt like a pool of suffocating tar trying to suck him down, down…

 

 “Help me!” He choked out brokenly, blood spilling over his lips. “Please!” He thought he saw Snape reach for his wand but then the far-too distant sound of the great doors swinging open reached him. It echoed oddly in Harry’s ringing ears as they ricocheted off the polished stone walls, voices and footsteps thundering through his skull as he choked on air and blood. His body was shuddering as if plugged into an electrical charge now, gone into shock and he clenched his eyes shut tight again. He was willing for it to end so the pain stopped but also desperate for some miracle to save him. He didn’t want to die. He was scared. He didn’t want to die.

 

 “Harry?!”

 

 “Harry!!!”

 

 Hermione and Ron’s voices swept over him. Then a roar of outraged horror ripped through the air and a sharp gust of air carried over him. He opened his eyes just in time to see a flash of silver fur as Fenrir’s wolf vaulted over his body, careening into Voldemort and sending him crashing hard into the snake-like stone. Hemming and Raquelle flew after him, Voldemort’s distant curses and their animalistic battle cries filling Harry’s ears as two big arms wrapped around his shaking form.

 

 “The silver and basilisk fang are reacting together, but the horcrux in him is fighting it, making it last longer,” Snape’s voice said quickly from nearby. “Making it worse.”

 

 “What?” Fenrir seethed darkly, cradling Harry’s body close. Harry squinted, his vision blurring as he tried to see Fenrir’s face. “What the fuck did you do? What bloody Horcrux?” Fenrir snarled.

 

 “Fen–” Harry tried, a thick clot of blood clogging his throat. He let out a struggled, determined grunt as he forced his fingers to obey, to grip Fenrir’s face. He clawed him by accident but it didn’t matter, he was touching, Fenrir was looking at him again. Those ice-blue eyes were glassy and wide, face contorted as if he could feel every ounce of Harry’s pain. Absently, behind his own icy tremors and suffocating agony, Harry thought he could sense Fenrir’s emotional anguish, but he couldn’t hold on.

 

 “Oh God,” Hermione gasped from nearby, her hand pressing against his throat to try and staunch the bleeding as she reached for her wand.

 

 “No!” Harry tried, “leave it, I n-need…”

 

 “The Dark Lord needed to be the one to kill him, to destroy the horcrux in him. If you try and heal him now it will all be in vain,” Snape’s voice said from somewhere so very far away.

 

 “What the fuck are you–?” Ron was cut off as Harry let out another garbled cry.

 

 “I’m a…the last…one,” he grunted out, pulling Fenrir’s face closer with trembling hands. He could barely see him now, barely speak and he wanted Fenrir to hear. He had to know. “Need to die…sorry…don’t want…I want to…stay…”

 

 Fenrir pressed his forehead hard into Harry’s, a low grunt of stifled misery tearing at his throat. His heartache was so palpable now that Harry could feel it sweeping through him, overtaking everything else. Everything except the icy claws locking around his throat.

 

 “No,” Fenrir growled, voice raspy and lost. “ _No_ …”

 

 “Kill him, V…mort, when I’m…” A sharp rush of ice spiralled up inside Harry and his head jerked back, the spasm tugging at his torn throat. Fenrir’s forehead and arm were the only things holding him still. Harry used everything he had left to press tight into Fenrir’s warmth, trying to hold on as long as possible.

 

 “Look aft…Kirian, I…Fenrir…” The tears that rose in his eyes felt so hot, the only warmth in his body except Fenrir’s connection that pounded as violently as his poisoned blood and dying heart. “I don’t want to die,” he spluttered, not caring about bravery or pride. He didn’t feel brave, he didn’t feel strong. He didn’t want the dark, icy fingers that were tugging him down, down…

 

 “I don’t want to, I’m…”

 

 A final shudder, then everything was silent. The pain died and his breath halted in his icy chest.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 Draco exhaled, leg bouncing nervously as he watched Potter’s son sleep fitfully in the moses basket. Potter and the others had been gone for just forty minutes and already Draco was sick with nerves. As if being on edge, waiting for the tiny infant in the basket to wake wasn’t bad enough, even with Kreacher flapping round the house somewhere cleaning after their countless guests, but it was the knowing, the anticipation of something going horribly wrong…

 

 “Curse you, Potter,” he grunted, pushing to his feet and casting his fifth cushioning charm around the baby, who gave a disgruntled whimper in his sleep at the hum of magic. When he was certain the baby was well cushioned, Draco turned to put on the kettle. He’d had three cups of tea since they’d left but it was the only thing he could think to do.

 

 A long, heavy sigh dragged free of his chest as he set his hands on the edge of the counter top, curling his fingers around the edge and bowing forward. He grit his teeth. He knew why Potter had given him the ‘order’ to stay behind and look after the boy. Yes, he was one of the few Potter’s _‘wolf’_ could stand around his child without supervision but also, it was because Potter knew what a coward he was. That thought made the nervous sickness in his belly all the more unbearable.

 

  _Useless, pathetic,_ Voldemort’s voice hissed in his head. Draco winced, clapping his hand over his dark mark as it throbbed. Voldemort was calling all the death eaters. He must know that Potter and the others were there by now. And Echo…

 

 “Please don’t let him die,” he breathed, eyes clenched tight against the far too-bright, far too sunny kitchen. “I need him, I need him and I…” If he died while Draco was sat here, given an excuse to hide like a pathetic little coward, he’d never forgive himself. He’d never been the strongest or the cleverest, the most talented – he’d certainly never been the bravest.

 

  _Please don’t let him die because I wasn’t good enough to help. Please._

 

 Suddenly, the baby gave a distressed little whimper and Draco whipped around so fast that he accidently brushed his arm against the hot AGA. He let out a hiss and a curse, grabbing instinctively for his burnt forearm – the one with the dark mark. He glared at it darkly.

 

  _If he comes back I’ll do better, I’ll be better. I’ll make amends for everything, just please…_

The baby was crying louder now and he rushed over to the basket, halting when he came up next to it. He winced, hesitating, flustered and lost for a moment, before reaching inside and carefully pulling the baby up into his arms. “Don’t you vomit on me, now you hear?” he warned, sitting back unsteadily in the chair and holding Kirian awkwardly on his lap so he could look at his pink, crying face. “Now then, what the devil is wrong with you?” he demanded uncertainly.

 

 Kirian wailed.

 

 Looking around, Draco reached for the bottle that had been prepared and kept warm beside him, but that wasn’t what the baby wanted. He spat out the teat unhappily. “The elf just changed you and you’re not hungry,” he said, feeling so awkward and frustrated. He didn’t want the child to cry; he was fond of him, despite appearances. Draco felt like crying himself and grit his teeth hard against the impulse.

 

 Staring at the baby’s mouth, parted with wailing, he realised what was missing. Moving the weight of him to one arm, he fished around inside the basket until he found the blasted soother and popped it back in the gaping maw. After a moment, that rosebud mouth fastened eagerly around it and the pathetic sobs ceased. Draco relaxed in the kitchen chair.

 

 Thank Merlin. The child was frowning, wriggling unhappily but he seemed a little more at ease, even if his tiny little fists were clenched and his tiny nostrils were flaring. Draco felt his heart clench. “You’re trying to smell for Potter?” he asked, voice hoarse. Of course the baby didn’t answer but he didn’t need to, Draco knew. At a loss, Draco reached for the album on the table and pulled it forward so both he and Kirian could see – even if the boy might not be able to focus on the photographs, it made Draco feel better, useful.

 

 “This is your grandfather, I do believe, and your grandmother,” Draco said, flicking slowly through the pages. Kirian did look at them but seemed instead more interested in smelling them. “That’s Granger and Weasel, they are probably something like unofficial godparents to you, though I think you’re much better off with pack godparents, really…”

 

 He wasn’t sure when he’d come to realise that the pack was such a beautiful place, a paradise away from the rest of the world. It hadn’t struck him like a thunderclap or lightning strike, the same as his… _affection_ for Echo hadn’t. It’d been gradual, subtle, sneaking up on him until…

 

  _Until I couldn’t imagine my life without them,_ Draco thought. Turning page by page through the album, his voice seemed to soothe the child a little. The thought that this photo album seemed to be Potter’s only connection to his family was a sad thought, as beautiful a collection as it was. Echo had told him Potter had grown up with nothing, with no one but the sight of this, all he had was staggering. Draco glanced down at the fussing baby in his arms as he turned to the final page and sighed.

 

  _Come home, Potter,_ he thought. Not just for the pining infant but for Potter himself, who despite his Gryffindor recklessness and stupidity, deserved so much more. The chance to live. _When did I start caring about him so bloody much?_ He wondered as he looked back to the album and froze. Potter’s messy, painfully familiar script stared up at him from a small piece of parchment, sitting neatly between the last two photographs of Greyback, Potter and their son.

 

 With a thick sense of foreboding in his belly, Draco reached forward and picked up the note.

 

  _Fenrir,_

_You know I’m not good with fancy words or saying the right thing so I’m just going to say it – I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kept it from you, the fact that I needed to die, that I was the last horcrux, but I knew you’d never let me go and I needed to do it. For you and Kirian. For everyone._

_Please don’t blame Snape, he’s been as much a pawn in this as me and he’s a good man. He’s the bravest man I’ve known and if he gets out of this alive, I hope you can forgive him for helping me. We were both Dumbledore’s men until the end – the bitter end._

_You and I didn’t have the best start but whatever happens, whatever anyone else says, the last few months have been everything to me. I’ve never felt more alive, more aware of myself and I never would’ve discovered that without you. I never would’ve had Kirian either and he’s everything I never dared to hope for, just like you said._

_There are so many things I’ve not had the chance to say and now my mind is blank, but I wish I didn’t have to do this. I wish I could stay. I don’t want to leave you and Kirian. I don’t know what that means, I don’t know what I feel but I know the thought of leaving you hurts. I want to stay. I want you. I want Kirian. I don’t want to go. I want to stay in our hollow and forget everything but I can’t. I have a job to do, to finish and only I can do it._

_It’s not your fault._

_I don’t want to leave._

_Please forgive me._

_Love Harry_

Draco dropped the letter, his eyes stinging and his chest tight. In his arms, sensing the mood it seemed, Kirian let out a pitiful cry.

 

 “Potter,” Draco murmured, his throat clogged and voice dry. “What have you done?”

 

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	24. Dying Stars

Author’s Note: **Warning for some swearing and gore.** Thank you so much for all your support and comments in the previous chapter. I was so nervous I wouldn’t do it justice and to know you all enjoyed it (despite a few tears) means everything to me. Hope this one is just as good!

 

 _Hoaryaehexia_ \-- derived from 'hoary' another word for silver. A bolt/bolts of pure silver that combust upon hitting the flesh, creating an overwhelming flash of silver. My creation from my HP story Sanguis Vita Est. Please ask, credit me and link to my page accordingly if you use.

 

We’re **not** at the last chapter yet! There’s still more to come :) 1 or 2 chapters I think depending on how things play out. Thank you for all your support thus far ^.^

 

**NOTE ADDED 15th January 2015: I'm changing the update night to Saturday night (UK TIME) just because work is so busy at this time of year and stressful so I just run out of time during the week at the moment. HOWEVER I have Saturdays all to myself (hubby is even at work) and I will use this as my main writing/editing day. So yes, same weekly schedule, just moved to Saturdays instead :) Hope you guys aren't too disappointed and don't feel let down? Hopefully the next chapter will make up for it ;) See you on 17th January! :D**

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

.: Chapter Twenty-Four :.

Dying Stars

 

 

The first thing Harry was aware of was that he wasn’t cold anymore. He wasn’t anything. He didn’t feel cold or warm, didn’t feel the fingers of death clawing at him or the choking agony of his sliced throat. He couldn’t see or hear. There was simply nothing. Yet he wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t lost. He was floating on air – part of the air itself with no concern or desperation. He was done now. Everything was going to be alright.

 

 It was over. The last horcrux had fizzed away into nothing. Kirian was safe and Fenrir… He could still feel Fenrir. Warmth that lapped at his disembodied soul, which flickered like a candle striving to stay alight in the wind. Harry floated on a tide of nothingness, that flame growing brighter, harder to dismiss until it burst in him like dying stars clashing together to forge new galaxies. As the heat ripped through him, his eyes flew open and he saw…white. Just white.

 

 Fenrir? He tried to say, but he had no voice to speak. The heat burned through the body he no longer had, building it anew and he pushed into it, trying to force the reborn limbs to move, to rise, to seek out the now inescapable fire that was raging, calling him. He blinked again, desperation reborn in his calm awareness.

 

 Suddenly he felt pressure at his back – hard, unyielding ground supporting his body. He lifted his hands and saw them, pale and bathed in otherworldly white light but very much there. He frowned, feeling his face twist with the expression and then the white nothingness around him seemed to dissolve. It faded like vapour, until all that remained was a thick white mist over a familiar forest, illuminated with that same white light.

 

 The sound of water trickled through his ears and he blinked again, pushing up off the ground to find that he was spread out in a shallow stream. The one that ran through the Forest of Shae. The water was calm and clear, glistening like a current of crystals, flowing over his legs and against his waist upstream, to where he could see it forked in two directions, as it did in reality. He knew this wasn’t reality. This was a copy – a mirage or ghostly limbo. Everything was covered in a shining fog wherever he looked.

 

 Slowly, he pushed himself out of the water, only to see that the water hadn’t made him wet. He frowned. He was wearing his Gryffindor robes – which he hadn’t worn in real life for over a year. “Where am I?” he asked, voice sounding distant, ghostly in the misty plain.

 

 “Oh, neither here nor there,” a voice came from the side, echoing slightly as his own had.

 

 Harry turned and started at what he saw there on the shoreline. “Professor Dumbledore?” he asked, frozen in place for a moment, the fire of Fenrir’s light still burning through his veins demandingly. Its persistence seemed to be giving him back more and more feeling, more awareness because he could feel his body more now, his expressions, his emotions. He felt trepidation and sadness lick at his insides as he crossed the stream to stand on the bank beside Dumbledore on the grey grass.

 

 Staring at his mentor for a long time, Harry felt a smile touch him and Dumbledore answered it in kind.

 

 “Hello, Harry my boy.”

 

 Harry watched him for a moment longer before darting his gaze around the silver-hued forest once more. “This looks like the Forest of Shae, near the den,” Harry said.

 

 Dumbledore looked around also. “Goodness, is it? I never saw it myself, you know but I have been watching. This must’ve been the place you felt would be best.”

 

 Harry blinked. “Best for what, sir?”

 

 With that painfully familiar smile, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Something in Harry’s chest hurt. How many things had he pondered, mulled over in his mind to ask the man if he ever saw him again? How many unanswered questions and uncertainties did he want to put to him? Now he couldn’t even think of one. Fenrir’s heat in his veins was making panic pulse thickly in his throat and he swallowed. He could even taste his own saliva again now.

 

 “Sir, what’s happening? I thought I died? I thought that I…”

 

 Suddenly something caught his eye. He felt a rush of revulsion and fear as he saw the mutated, red creature writhing as it was carried downstream. It looked like a child except its arms and legs were unnaturally long and thin, its head adult sized and inhuman looking. Harry felt ill to watch it but could not look away as it choked and flailed, dragged down toward the fork in the stream.

 

 “Have no fear, Harry, I think you know what that was and let me assure you, wherever you go from here, it will have no hold on you any longer,” Dumbledore said softly, reaching out and squeezing Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt it, felt the firmness of his fingers and stared at the wrinkly-skinned hand before meeting Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes again. Dumbledore was still smiling and his face, his presence let the urgency instilled by Fenrir’s warmth ebb slightly. As if sensing his thoughts, Dumbledore frowned.

 

 “It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry,” Dumbledore said, an echo of his words in life. “Nor the dead. I am meant to be an impartial guide while you choose direction, after all.”

 

 “A guide to where, sir?” Harry asked, watching as Dumbledore swept out an imperious palm toward the fork in the river.

 

 “Wherever you choose,” Dumbledore said.

 

 Harry understood. He nodded slowly. “One is to go back,” he said, something inside him, his _heart_ skipping a beat. He felt it beating now, growing stronger by the second. It was as if life were returning to him. But every time he looked at Dumbledore, it seemed to fade ever so slightly into the soft fuzzy nothingness of before. “Where does the other side of the river lead?”

 

 Dumbledore’s expression was wistful as he let go of Harry’s shoulder and turned toward the fork. “On,” he said, walking the silvery riverbank. Harry knew to follow.

 

 As they walked together, Harry found that he wanted to reach out and touch Dumbledore again, mostly to enjoy his presence but also because the calming nothingness was so pleasant. He resisted the urge, wanting a clear head as they trudged down the long stretch of river. The mutilated embodiment of Voldemort’s soul, the piece that had been inside him was long gone now.

 “But I don’t understand, sir. I was…I _died_. I really died. I felt it. I…I just _knew,_ wherever I was, that I was over, that it was the end and…” He bit the inside of his mouth, reassured by the habit from his life. “What happened?”

 

 Dumbledore swept his hands behind his back as he moved, white robes trailing slightly behind him. “You died along with the horcrux, yes. A horcrux can only be destroyed so many ways, one is by the hand of its creator. I am very proud of you, Harry, you and Severus, for doing what had to be done despite how hard it was. I wish it could have gone differently, I hope you know that? But nevertheless, you succeeded.”

 

 Harry frowned. “Then why am I still here, sir?” He wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad, now he was here, in this ethereal middle plain, he wasn’t sure what to do. The peace of the afterlife had felt so wonderful but then there was the pulsing ache in his bones, Fenrir’s bond still burning ferociously. He felt torn and Dumbledore was just smiling knowingly, as he’d done in life.

 

 “I think you know the answer already,” Dumbledore said, turning his gaze back ahead to the silver-hued forest and now soundlessly flowing stream.

 

 “Fenrir,” Harry said simply, “our bond. It’s holding onto me. He’s holding onto me through it?” He could feel the cold of the real world lapping at his limbs around the heat of Fenrir’s claim in his chest. It seemed the more he contemplated life, the more he thought about everything that he’d left behind, the more he could _feel_ everything. “I don’t understand how this is possible,” Harry muttered. “Is this even real?”

 

 “Why shouldn’t it be real, Harry?” Dumbledore intoned, still bright and unperturbed by Harry’s dilemma. After a few more silent steps, he continued. “Voldemort destroyed his shard of soul within you and ended your life. I realise that time feels different here and in the beyond, but in reality, the battle still wages. Only a few moments have passed since you left them and as you predicted, Fenrir Greyback is not willing to let you pass without a fight.”

 

 As he spoke, Harry felt the hardness of the stone floor at his back, felt the constriction of arms around his shoulders and yet he was standing there on the bank facing Dumbledore still. He was starting to feel the things his corporeal body was feeling, piece by piece, one sensation at a time. Panic was the next thing to come. He glanced hastily at the two directions the river took and felt his heart pounding.

 

 “How is possible that he pulled me back? I was gone, I…I _felt_ it.”

 

 “ _He will have power that the Dark Lord knows not_ ,” Dumbledore recited.

 

 Harry blinked. “It wasn’t the wolf in me?”

 

 Dumbledore tilted his head to regard him carefully. “Yes and no,” he replied, as cryptic as ever. “Your werewolf blood means that your body is taking a little longer to fully die – in our world people can lose their limbs, their heads, be splinched or worse and still survive, if they are healed in time. Even muggles can be resuscitated after their heart stops. Werewolves have an even greater capacity to heal.”

 

 Harry instinctively reached up to his throat. It was whole, unmarred but there as a sting there that grew more potent by the moment. “But I lost so much blood and there was silver on the knife – it looked like a basilisk fang,” he protested, still torn, lost, wavering.

 

 “It was a basilisk fang and yes, a great deal of blood, Dumbledore said gravely. “And if you aren’t helped soon, I am afraid even a werewolf will have no way back. Even one whose mate is pouring everything into them to keep them alive. Which is the real force at work that Voldemort could never anticipate. How could he have guessed that someone as wicked and corrupt, as monstrous and blood thirsty as Fenrir Greyback would have such magical power, connected to the earth and the elements? How could he have known that he would have the capacity to fall so far in love and strengthen the mate bond enough that he could even stall death?” Dumbledore evidently saw Harry’s surprise, his realisation for he smiled wisely, pleased. “Yes, you would have thought someone so driven by avoiding death would be more aware of life. But alas…”

 

 Harry swallowed, moistening his dry throat and lips. “Fenrir is trying to heal me,” he said hastily, his chest tight. “His bond with me, he’s pouring everything into it to hold me down while he tries. Isn’t he?” He rubbed at his sore throat until the skin felt raw, growing more painful by the moment. It was getting harder to speak. Dumbledore looked pained but pleased. _He knows I’m feeling more by the moment,_ Harry realised.

 

 “Won’t my body still die?” he asked, glancing down either side of the dissected river with increasing urgency. Both directions looked the same, the clear soundless water fading into furls of fog in the distance. One to peace, to calm nothingness and his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, the other to Fenrir, Kirian and his friends, his family but also pain and uncertainty.

 

 “I cannot guarantee one way or the other,” Dumbledore said gravely. “I am not permitted to sway your decision, to do anything but help you understand so that you may choose for yourself – one way or another.”

 

 Harry stared at him, searching his expression for inspiration, for wisdom. But then a long, distant howl sounded in the distance, far off down the right hand bend in the river, so quiet he almost missed it – almost. It was never-ending and sad, filled with longing. It reminded him of warmth of moonlight, of a blanket of stars and of Kirian’s smell, of Ron, Hermione, Draco, Echo and…

 

 “Only you can decide, my boy,” Dumbledore said quietly.

 

 Harry knew he’d made up his mind when he felt the pain in his throat swell, burning, biting. He gasped as he felt hot rivulets of liquid ooze down his neck. He reached up and his throat felt raw, aching, throbbing, growing worse by the second. When he glanced down he saw the front of his Gryffindor school shirt and tie stained with blood and jumped. The wound at his throat was materialising into being – he couldn’t feel it in its entirety yet but he knew he would soon, if he took the right hand bend.

 

 Fenrir’s presence was stronger than ever now, to the point where Harry kept glancing over his shoulder to see if the man was standing there. He knew that the growing pain in his throat would soar to unbearable heights soon. He knew there would be pain if he took the path to the right, the path where the low, mournful howling was coming from. Blood dripped down across his collarbone. He knew what was waiting for him back home, he just had to decide if that agony was bearable.

 

  _Home._

 

 The coldness from before had reached him again but the grasping fingers of death were gone, replaced by Fenrir’s calling heat, his arms, his soft howling. Harry’s skin was buzzing with it. He winced as he felt the pain in his throat burn hotter and instinctively reached up again. As he did so, he saw a soft glimmer out of the corner of his eye and saw Dumbledore holding a small mirror.

 

 With wide eyes, Harry watched his reflection, saw the gory mess of his throat slowly fading, inch by inch into an angry red line. He couldn’t breathe. He felt the stinging, agonising pull against each piece of flesh as it was healed, felt wetness there as if the wound was being licked away. That was exactly what was happening to his corporeal body, wasn’t it?

 

 “Did you ever wonder why werewolf tradition means that mates are the ones that heal each other?” Dumbledore said as Harry touched the angry red mark at his throat. “Your connection lets you reach deeper, do great things with already astounding werewolf magic. It is what is allowing him to hold you now, when any normal wizard would have been lost.” He smiled again. “There are some things I truly wish the Ministry would’ve permitted us to teach at Hogwarts. The worlds and cultures they fear the most are often full of such wondrous things.” His tone was so regretful, thoughtful and Harry was momentarily lost in it, until the pain throbbed in his aching throat more intensely and the howling at the end of the river grew louder.

 

 Dumbledore followed the sound with his eyes, then looked knowingly at Harry. “I think you’ve made your decision, my boy. They are waiting for you.”

 

 Harry thought he saw pride and relief in Dumbledore’s watery blue eyes, happiness.  Harry held that gaze for a moment longer, then turned. “Thank you, sir,” he said quickly but as he made to move, something made him hesitate. He looked back at Dumbledore. “I… Sir, Fenrir isn’t what we thought he was. It wasn’t what it seemed,” he began.

 

 Dumbledore’s lips twisted slightly in amusement. “Things rarely are, Harry. Needless to say that in the place beyond, we can see all things. It’s alright.” He surveyed Harry from head to toe and those eyes twinkled again. “We’re all alright, Harry. And we are extraordinarily proud of you. Surprised, but proud. Happy.”

 

 Harry couldn’t help himself. “Even Sirius?” he asked.

 

 Dumbledore chuckled. “Even Sirius.”

 

 Harry exhaled shakily, every inch of him humming with bursts of heat and electrical current that was Fenrir’s call. “Goodbye, sir.”

 

 “Until we meet again, Harry.”

 

 With that, Harry turned and bolted down the river bank. He could hear the water now, it was rushing in his ears like the wind as it flew against his cheeks, carrying on it the increased volume of the wolf’s howl. He leapt over the narrow fork in the stream and heard his feet crash into the water. The liquid splashed up over him, drenching him to the knees but he didn’t stop.

 

 He felt an urge to look back, to see if he could still see Dumbledore but something told him that would be bad. He couldn’t look back and he couldn’t stop. The mist around him was fading, the howling was growing louder and louder in his ears. The river was getting deeper, his footsteps heavier as the water soaked through his clothes. He was in to the waist now, his movements slow but no less urgent. He didn’t stop.

 

 The brightness of the plain around him was fading, growing darker and Harry felt a last surge of panic as he desperately tried to move forward, toward the howling that was now deafening in his ears. He pushed forward, he sank deeper, the water washed over his head. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was cold. It all went black.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 Harry’s eyes flew open and the first thing he saw was Snape and Fenrir, both bowed over him, apparently hard at work. The sight of them both so close through the heavy haze around his mind and limbs was startling enough. Everything ached, as if weighed down by stone and he felt weak. His throat felt like it was on fire. He blinked and even that was a challenge but no one had seemed to notice. He soon realised why.

 

 The battle was still raging around him. Panic unravelled in his veins as he heard Voldemort’s spells clashing with Raquelle and Hemming, heard the unmistakeable sound of the Lestranges, Ron, Hermione and Larentia coming to blows. He winced, trying to make his limbs obey, make his body move but everything felt too heavy.

 

 “Tighten your fist! Just a bit more, he needs more!” Snape snapped harshly, something hard and unyielding stabbing into the crook of Harry’s elbow. A wand? He tried to lift his head to see but could do no more than flounder for speech and air, blinking wildly up at them, helpless as they worked over him.

 

 “Take it all,” Fenrir growled through gritted teeth and Harry realised only one arm was cradling him now, the other was pressed against his at an awkward angle.

 

 “That won’t be necessary,” Snape retorted, voice sneering but hasty, distracted. “He only needs enough to accelerate his healing and the replenishing of his blood.”

 

 From this angle if Harry strained his eyes he could see Snape’s free hand come into view and the narrow lip of a potions vial was pressed to his mouth. He tasted the bitter tang of blood replenishing potion but also something else, something coppery, thick and… He gagged. Blood. Fenrir’s blood.

 

 “Swallow it, Potter. You need to keep it down. You need the added phoenix tears to take care of the basilisk venom and you’ve lost too much blood,” Snape insisted darkly.

 

 “He’s awake!” Fenrir gasped, voice raw and thick with emotion. The arm wrapped around Harry’s squeezed, large fingers brushing Harry’s shoulder encouragingly. “Harry, stay with me. Don’t you bloody give up on me. Don’t you fucking dare!”

 

 Harry winced at the shouting, lips parted soundlessly. But he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t do anything but stare up at them. His eyes watered. He grit his teeth. Everything hurt. Was he going to die all over again? He couldn’t bear it. He was afraid still. He couldn’t do it.

 

 “A little more,” Snape’s voice said and as Harry felt the blood replenisher infused with phoenix tears and Fenrir’s own blood rushing through him, he gained more sensation, more awareness. He released a choking groan and tilted his head into Fenrir’s shoulder, giving his head the support it needed to look down. Snape’s wand was indeed pressed into his inner elbow, the tip dragging a thin trail of disembodied red fluid into him, from Fenrir’s free arm. Snape was putting some of Fenrir’s blood into him.

 

 “N- _No_ ,” Harry managed, voice raw, rough, grating. Fenrir needed that blood. He didn’t want it.

 

 “The spell changes the blood type to match, Potter,” Snape said simply, misinterpreting Harry’s negation. “Besides the… _mate bond_ is already working. You’ll be stable, better than stable in a few moments.” With that he pressed harder on Harry’s skin, muttering an incantation before drawing his wand away. “There,” he said, sitting back slightly, expression easing with relief. “Just let the magic in Greyback’s blood and the potion work.”

 

 Harry felt the heat pulsing through his veins, revitalising, replenishing and he watched Snape, then Fenrir, trying to find strength to move, to fight, to speak. Bright blue eyes locked with his and everything froze for a moment. Fenrir’s arm tightened around him and the other lifted to brush away the spilled potion from Harry’s mouth. There was such emotion there that Harry felt its heat pulse over that of the healing current in his veins.

 

 “Thought you were escaping, did you?” Fenrir grumbled quietly. Harry wondered how much blood he’d given because he didn’t look worn or weak, only relieved. Dumbledore’s words rushed back to him and he blinked, feeling strength slowly returning to him. He reached a shaking, unsteady hand up and ran his fingers along Fenrir’s stubbly mouth. It was stained with his own blood and he knew that Fenrir had healed his throat. He’d healed him then he had held onto him with the bond, refused to let him go while Snape used Fenrir’s blood to revitalise him. The fact that Fenrir had joined forces with a wizard was not lost on him either.

 

  _He must love me,_ Harry thought with a small smile, the blood and potion chasing the cold weakness from his bones.

 

 Suddenly an agonised howl ripped through the air and Harry managed to look up to see Voldemort swing his wand out like a sword, slashing Raquelle across her furry side and sending her sprawling into Hemming, both of them rolling into a tangled heap across the floor. Voldemort’s face was ashen, the fact that his horcruxes had all been vanquished showing its toll. Despite his reptilian visage he looked frenzied, livid, mortal. No longer invincible.

 

 Then he was on them. “Well isn’t this a touching scene?” he hissed, voice higher and madder than ever as he raised his wand. “Did I not kill you enough the first time, boy? Let me rectify that now and dispose of both you and your _dog_!” He brought his wand down and Snape rose up, lifting his own wand, emitting a wide bar of white light that clashed with the hard line of green like two swords meeting on a battlefield.

 

 “Traitor!” Voldemort screeched, bearing down on Snape who was disadvantaged by his crouched position at Harry’s side, face contorting with effort and sweat beading across his sallow skin.

 

 “Never,” Snape hissed, launching everything in his body up and forward to throw Voldemort back. Voldemort staggered, livid, teeth bared like an enraged viper. He brandished his wand again but at the same time, Snape lunged forward and snagged the knife holstered at the Dark Lord’s waist, shoving it up, hard toward the man’s stomach. Voldemort stepped back just enough so that the blade sliced through his robes but nothing more.

 

 “Who do you think you are duelling with?!” Voldemort howled, throwing his wand arm down and across, a sharp sound like a whiplash tearing through the air and Snape’s skin, sending him sprawling back a few feet across the polished stone floor.

 

 “No!” Harry grunted, grinding his teeth together in an effort to move. He pushed up hard with shaking arms, rolling up onto his knees, but the only thing that held him upright was Fenrir’s arm round his shoulders. “Let me go!” he gasped, breathing laboured, skin flecked with sweat. His body felt heavy and weak, the blood still working to heal him. He cast around for his wand. He’d had it when he’d fallen, he was sure of it.

 

 At the same time, Voldemort raised his wand again, a manic light burning in his crimson eyes. Bellatrix’s cry of glee ripped through the air as her torture curse slammed into Ron, dropping him where he stood. Harry threw himself forward at the sound of his guttural cries and screamed himself, the sound bearing into his weakness as he scrambled for his wand nearby. Too late. He rolled on his back, grunting in strained agony to see a horrifyingly familiar green light erupting from the end of Voldemort’s wand, heading toward Snape.

 

 “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

 

 “NO!” Harry screamed again, seeing Fenrir scramble upwards – also too late. But as the spell shot forward, a flash of reddish brown vaulted into its path, taking the light square in the shoulder and tumbling with a messy crash into the earth. At the same time, Snape scrambled to his feet again, wand ready, face white with his close encounter with the end as he glanced between Voldemort and his saviour. Echo’s wolf form shook itself. Magic crackled in fur where it’d taken the force of it, magical resistance diverting the otherwise fatal spell into the very air and stone around him.

 

 Echo drew back his jowls in a snarl and lunged again.

 

  “ _Hoaryaehexia_!” Voldemort cried and Harry felt a frisson of burning awareness pulse through the air he breathed in. Blinding silvery missiles hurtled towards Echo, an endless barrage of pure silver stakes. Harry watched with bated breath as Echo dodged them, dived for the ground, leapt through the air, side-stepped the oncoming assault. But they kept coming. Harry had to finish this.

 

 As if sensing his thoughts, Fenrir grabbed his arm. “I nearly lost you the last time I let myself be distracted by everything else,” he said gruffly. “It’s not happening again.”

 

 Harry grit his teeth against the limpness in his bones and pushed up, staggering to his shaky legs. He clenched his trembling fingers around his wand. “I have to finish this,” he managed, voice wavering. He was so tired. Everything hurt. He couldn’t stop.

 

 A growl of frustration ripped through Harry’s ears and Fenrir’s grip on his arm tightened. He glanced back, seeing fear hidden behind that wall of anger. Fenrir gave a final snarl, he dropped Harry’s arm and stepped back, silver fur erupting from his grotesquely morphing limbs. Ice blue eyes stared back at Harry from the face of the wolf, a look of fleeting vacillation in them, before he flew at Voldemort.

 

 Voldemort flicked his wand toward Fenrir, trying to send the hurricane of silver at him next but not quickly enough. Fenrir slammed into him, massive jaws biting down hard on his shoulder, locking tight, dragging a sharp, piercing inhuman cry from Voldemort’s thin pale mouth. Harry felt his stomach churn at the sound of crunching bone and cartilage.

 

 Suddenly, Ron’s screams intensified and Harry whirled on unsteady feet to see Hermione pinned beneath Rodolphus Lestrange as he pressed his wand to her throat. Larentia was stalking Bellatrix who was laughing shrilly, surrounded by a thick glistening shield of silver as her wand made Ron convulse on the floor.

 

 Hemming staggered out from under a limp Raquelle who’s leg was twisted at a grotesque angle. He pressed at his pack-mate’s neck with his muzzle until she gave a yip of reassurance, then he lunged – not for Rodolphus, but for Bellatrix. At the same time as Harry grit his teeth through the pulse of exhaustion and raised his wand.

 

  _“Expelliarmus!”_ he cried and Rodolphus’ wand flew into his hand. Harry snapped it in two and watched the dawning horror on the man’s face, cut short by a gasp from Hermione’s sharp knee to the groin. He spluttered and choked, clutching himself as he rolled off Hermione, who kicked out again for good measure, a hand clasped to her raw throat as she shuffled back away from him, snatching up her own wand.

 

 Hemming threw himself at the wall of transparent silver around Bellatrix. A snarling howl of agony and the smell of burning ripped through the air as he slammed into her, braving the wall of anguish to lock his jaws around her throat. She hit the floor with a sickening thud, still laughing even when blood and imminent death distorted the sound into a grizzly cackle.

 

 The wall of silver faded as Hemming twisted his head and Bellatrix Lestrange moved no more. He stumbled back, falling onto his side, fur and flesh singed, breathing heavy – pained but alive. Hermione wrapped Ron in her arms, trying to hold and protect his body where it twisted and writhed in the aftermath of the torture curse, low grunts sounding deep from within his chest.

 

 Harry stared, weakness freezing him in place. Cursing it, he glanced quickly to where Voldemort and Fenrir were locked together, and at the same time, Rodolphus Lestrange snatched up Ron’s wand, throwing a beam of savage yellow light for Harry. It hit him square in the chest and he fell back, slamming hard into the unforgiving stone floor. Blood thrummed in his veins, Fenrir’s blood repairing the damage done, inspiring his own werewolf healing abilities to work faster, harder – but not fast enough.

 

  _Come on!_ He urged his recently revived body, letting out a sharp gasp of effort as he shoved himself up to his elbows, head spinning. _Come on! For fuck’s sake! I need to do something!_

 

 Echo flew across the hall, intercepting Rodolphus as he rounded on Harry.

 

 “ _Incarcerous!_ ” Rodolphus sneered, dark features twisting in madness and grief as ropes erupted from his wand and locked around Echo’s body, binding his legs to his torso until he slammed dead-weight to the ground. “Let’s see how resistant you are to spells that cut off your head!” Rodolphus shrieked, wand rising.

 

 It was only then, in that sharp moment of panic, that Harry remembered he didn’t need his wand, not anymore. They’d been wrong when they’d thought Harry turning into a werewolf was the power that the _‘Dark Lord knows not’._ It was _being_ a werewolf, being part of this pack and everything that came with it, everything that was enabling them to fight against Voldemort now, to bring Harry back.

 

 Harry jerked his shaking hand up, a deep fissure bolting through the stone, sending a blast of debris and stone dust up into Rodolphus’ face. As the man screeched, hands flying to his blinded eyes, another voice cut through the room – one Harry had only heard a few times before.

 

 “ _Stupefy_!” called Narcissa Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange collapsed where he stood. Harry stared at her for a fleeting moment, seeing the trepidation mixed with determination in those ice blue eyes. She lifted her chin the way that Draco did when challenged, then resumed her place at her husband’s side. Harry thought she’d done that for Draco, and smiled at the thought as he forced his shaky legs to carry him to Echo’s side.

 

 “ _Relashio_!” Harry murmured with a pass of his hand. The spell took a moment longer than usual because of his exertion, his magic still feeble and recovering. But a moment was all it took for the howl of agony to rip through everything and make him whirl to see Voldemort’s wand had become a silver lance – a spear that he’d driven through Fenrir’s shoulder.

 

 “NO!” Harry screamed, staggering, hand raised but as Fenrir’s massive form writhed on the ground, his paw morphing into deformed, half-human hand that dragged at the wound in his wolfish shoulder, Voldemort was already over Harry. With his natural magic weak, Harry reached for the wand that Rodolphus had dropped but Voldemort’s foot slammed hard into his chest, pinning him to the floor, knocking the wand from his hand and out of sight.

 

 “ _Crucio!_ ” Voldemort seethed and Harry’s body bowed upward, head thrown back, mouth opened in ragged screams as he was shaken with seizure-like spasms of unadulterated blinding pain. Some dark magic affected a werewolf when they weren’t wearing their wolf forms, Harry realised through the crescendo of agony. Marrok had been taken down by that spell earlier because he had been wearing human-looking skin and now Harry was…

 

His eyes snapped open even as the pain coursed through him. The image of his pack-mate writhing on the floor earlier and Fenrir’s demanding, desperate voice pierced the still-present pain. In the exact split second that Voldemort twisted his wand, dragging white-hot anguish from his still weak body, Harry realised. He’d never tried to withstand magic whilst in his wolf shape. Before he could do more than grit his teeth Voldemort let out an inhuman scream of pain and the torture curse lifted.

 

 With limbs still trembling and clumsy, Harry pushed himself up onto his arms and felt his stomach lurch at the sight that greeted his blood-shoot, burning eyes. Fenrir was sprawled across the ground as a wolf, his legs tucked under his bleeding side and his massive jaws locked around Voldemort’s leg, forcing him to freeze in place lest he lose his leg.

 

 Voldemort, face gaunt and white, blood oozing from his leg and down his shoulder, raised his wand again. This time he pointed it right between Fenrir’s eyes. But Fenrir did not let go. Voldemort was conquerable, no longer immortal but his still immense power meant that he was still standing where any normal man would have fallen. Fenrir obviously wasn’t going to take the chance of letting him go again – not for anything. Not even to save his own life.

_“Whatever you left undone is my responsibility by default. As your mate I’m an extension of you – just as your silly little wand was an extension of you. I’m your strength, your power. You must use me to complete whatever task you set out to do.”_

 

 Harry remembered Fenrir insisting that, even way back at the start when they’d first been bound. In that moment Harry did not have time to wonder if a werewolf could avoid a blast directly to the face, he didn’t stop. He threw himself forward with a cry of negation and his head snapped back, teeth bared as obsidian fur burst across his flesh, his bones snapping, reshaping, warping before Voldemort’s widened eyes. The shock of the evidently unexpected image made the Dark Lord hesitate as he stared at Harry, mouth slightly open, fear crossing him. They all knew then how this was going to end.

 

 As Harry snarled in the pain of the change, his limbs locking into place as the jet black wolf, Snape lunged forward out of nowhere, the fallen knife that had slit Harry’s throat earlier now grasped in his hand. Snape released a grunt of his own, throwing himself and the knife into Voldemort’s side. He twisted the knife, rooting deep under the man’s rib-cage until he dragged a sharp high cry out of his ‘master’, and he did not let go.

 

 Voldemort’s wand dropped to the floor with a clatter that nulled all sound in the room.

 

 Harry didn’t think. He pushed down into his back legs, still shaking from the change and leapt for the Dark Lord’s throat. The weight of his transformed body sent him, Voldemort, Fenrir and Snape all tumbling back, but none of them released their death grip, not willing to give another chance. Harry’s fangs locked around that neck. This was it. His stomach churned at the feel of crunching bone and cartilage, blood erupted in his mouth and he felt sick but he did not stop, he did not let go.

 

 Fenrir’s pride, relief and exhaustion throbbed in his veins alongside his own but he did not let go. Not even when he felt Fenrir and Snape both shifting away, felt Voldemort’s body go limp and cold under him. He felt Fenrir’s muzzle bump against his flank but did not react, could not let go. This was his goal, the thing that had plagued him since he was fourteen – knowing he would have to face. This was it and he couldn’t let go. His jaws ached and his gums were sore where his teeth ground together determinedly.

 

 “Potter,” Snape said from the other side, voice tinged with tiredness. “Potter, let go. The dark magic is consuming him, you must let go.”

 

 Werewolf instincts and human shock had settled into his mind and body. His limbs were locked like his jaws and his eyes were clenched shut tight against the world. He heard Snape’s words, understood them but could not force his body to react. He was starting to shake.

 

 It was over.

 

 He could not let go.

 

 Suddenly a low hissing sound and heat like acid rose up from the body beneath him. Fenrir snarled, slamming hard into his side, separating him from Voldemort’s disintegrating corpse and sending them both barrelling across the ground. Harry sprawled across the floor, panting as his body morphed back to his human shape. Naked as the day he was born, he stared up at the cavernous ceiling, unable to make his body move, do anything other than breathe. That was until Fenrir’s human face hovered above him and a large hand cupped his own with gentleness that belied the gruff voice he used.

 

 “Look at me,” he growled, panic making his voice rough and harsh.

 

 There was another moment of breathless stillness and then Harry’s eyes flicked to Fenrir’s. He saw his mate’s entire body sag with relief when they made contact. Fenrir exhaled in a low shaky breath and seized Harry by the back of his neck, hauling him up roughly to press their foreheads together. Their noses touched, brushed together from side to side as Fenrir scented him, over and over, inhaling deeply all while wrapping an arm round his back to haul him closer.

 

 “You bloody…you fucking _stupid…_!” Fenrir’s voice cracked uncharacteristically at the end, eyes clenched shut tight and Harry felt something sharp and painful throb in his chest. Fenrir’s anguish, Harry’s relief to be in his arms again, Fenrir’s overwhelming need for comfort and…his love. It was so bright and palpable now, so prominent since he’d felt it and their bond calling him back from the edge of the stream in the other world.

 

 Harry’s breathing was stuttered and uneasy, like someone who had just finished sobbing uncontrollably – except his eyes were dry despite their stinging. He screwed his eyes shut too and wrapped his arms round Fenrir’s neck, lifting his chin so Fenrir could graze his jaw with his lips, before dipping his head down to return the favour, scenting and reacquainting and reminding each other that it was over. They were both safe.

 

 It was over.

 

 Harry felt sick. He was sure he was shaking and he loathed it, the display of weakness after he’d tried so hard to be strong. He let out a dry sob through gritted teeth and Fenrir tugged his head back hard so he could look down into his face. He seemed to scan Harry’s features, assessing him for a moment before he pushed Harry’s head under his chin and held him there roughly, pushing a hard, angry, hysterical human kiss to Harry’s hair.

 

 “You fucking stupid little _prick_!” he hissed. “You knew, didn’t you? You bloody knew you’d have to walk in here and die and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t _warn_ me? You thought you’d just fucking leave me, did you? Escape me?”

 

  _Escape me, leave me like everyone else,_ Harry thought he heard in that voice, thought he felt a flicker of Fenrir’s loss over his family in his own chest. He didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. He pressed his face into Fenrir’s neck.

 

 “Selfish little cunt,” Fenrir growled darkly. “So ready to die. Did you think of me and Kirian at all? Of your silly little friends and the pack and–”

 

 “I did it for you, all of you,” Harry murmured from under Fenrir’s chin, voice tired and low. “I…I’m…” _So tired. So sorry. So fucking happy and pissed off because you don’t get it at all and…_

 

They stayed like that for a long time, until at last Echo approached them, limping and cradling one arm as he knelt beside them. “Alphas, we need to leave. Lupin says that many of the death eaters have fled but we have many wounded and we need to–”

 

 “Is anyone dead?” Harry asked, pushing away from Fenrir’s chest slightly, trying to focus his fuzzy vision on Echo’s features. He felt light-headed now, as if the rush of adrenaline had left him bereft. “Remus? Marrok?” A hasty glance around showed Hermione was helping a weak but living Ron to his feet. They both caught his eye and smiled tiredly. They’d won.

 

 It was over. It felt so surreal.

 

 Slowly, he extricated himself from Fenrir’s embrace and they both stood. Fenrir looked bad. The wound to his chest had healed a little but the silver poisoning was making it bubble and blood that steamed warningly was oozing from the wound. He favoured that side, pressing his palm into it to staunch the flow as Harry glanced around. Raquelle was unconscious but clearly breathing. Snape was watching them carefully. Larentia was helping Hemming up, Lucius was unconscious and Narcissa knelt by his side still, watching them all carefully.

 

 “Marrok recovered somewhat – Alpha managed to get him to shift to fight off the dark magic,” Echo explained. “Your Lupin is a great leader. We lost a few but…” He winced and Harry knew he was trying to hide the fact that he was happy they’d not lost any pack or loved ones, probably feeling it was inappropriate to be grateful when anyone had died at all.

 

 Harry nodded grimly. They had a lot of wounds to heal, dead to bury.

 

 “The Weasleys?” Harry asked.

 

 Echo shook his head. “All well. That Mrs Weasley is a fighter,” he grinned broadly. “She and her husband have taken charge, taken the wounded to your wizard hospital. I think they intend to alert the press and…”

 

 But suddenly Harry felt a rush of draining, nauseating heat rush up from everywhere in his body to his head. He felt sick. He stumbled a few steps, Fenrir’s arm grabbing his shoulders as he sagged, vision shifting, tilting unnaturally and his hearing all-but lost to a deafening ring.

 

 It was like having a concussion or…

 

 “He’s coming down from the blood loss and shock,” he just about heard Snape’s voice through the pulsing rush of blood and fading adrenaline. He reached out and gripped the arm holding him upright and then everything was gone.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 When Harry’s consciousness flickered back feebly, everything was dark and fuzzy. His hearing made everyone sound so very far away. His body was cold and weak. He could feel the weight of itchy, heavy covers over him from head to toe and he wanted to kick them off, wanted to scrub at his eyes so he could try and coax them open. But to no avail.

 

 Fenrir’s pulsing fear and anger rushed through him until it choked him. His brow furrowed as his mate’s snarl of negation ripped through him even from the distance. He knew what Fenrir’s feral thoughts felt like, he was frantic with them and Harry could feel and hear it all. It was like hearing everything down a long tunnel. Harry winced, trying to claw at it, hold onto it.

 

 “He needs medical attention! Werewolf or not!” An unrecognisable woman’s voice insisted, answered by another feral roar.

 

 “Fenrir! She isn’t hurting him!” Remus?

 

 “Remus, he’s not – he’s not _there,_ he can’t understand us!” Hermione.

 

 Had he been hurt beyond something Fenrir or his own blood could heal? Surely Snape’s blood replenishment potion and the phoenix tears accelerated by Fenrir’s donation of blood should have healed him? Where was he? Why was Fenrir so…? He tried to cling on, to claw his way back to consciousness but everything was slipping away. The last thing he heard was a heavy _thunk_ of something colliding with the floor and a final growl of protest from Fenrir.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 Silence flooded everything when consciousness found him again. He could still feel Fenrir’s presence pulsing lightly through his blood as ever, but he knew he wasn’t nearby. With a frown creasing his brow, Harry forced his eyes open and found himself staring a crisp white tiled ceiling. He blinked. Sniffed.

 

 Where was Fenrir? Where was Kirian? A low groan tumbled over his dry lips as he forced his head to turn, his vision slightly blurry without his glasses but nowhere near as bad as it had been before Fenrir had turned him. He could still make out the two faces either side of his bed as Ron and Hermione, even without his excellent sense of smell.

 

 “Ron? Hermione? Where am I? Where are Fenrir and Kirian?” His voice was dry and raspy from under-use. His insides twisted with desperation to see his son. How long had passed? Was Kirian missing him? Was he alright? The tell-tale pressure in his chest said that the flow had built up enough to make him sore. It’d been some time. “How long?” He forced out, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up against the white iron headboard on the hospital bed he was in.

 

 He couldn’t make out the details of the room but he knew he must be in St Mungo’s. There were brightly coloured charms pulsing in waves across the blank wall space above his headboard, like thousands of LED lights blinking in the same repetitive motion in various colours to signify various vital signs. Thin strings of magic were attached to his wrists, incorporeal but glowing strands that matched the monitoring charms dancing over the bed. They ached a bit where they rooted into him and he wondered if this was at all similar to the feeling of being hooked up to muggle monitors and drips, having never been in a muggle hospital for something like this before.

 

 They both stared at him for a moment, relief evident in their tired faces. Ron still looked pale from the _Cruciatus_ and Hermione appeared worn thin with worry and exertion. But they’d stayed with him, keeping watch. Of course they had.

 

 “You collapsed after you killed Voldemort,” Hermione said, using the name despite the taboo that had plagued them for so long. It was further tribute to the fact that this was finally over, that there was no need to be afraid of a name any longer.

 

 It was over.

 

 “I know that,” he said impatiently, gripping the itchy, too-heavy sheets with his fingers. “I remember.”

 

 Hermione gave him a look of annoyance that was so nostalgic of their Hogwarts days that he felt slightly chastened despite his growing desperation and suffocation.

 

 “We think when the adrenaline faded you went into shock,” Ron said after a moment or two. “The potion and Greyback’s blood had replenished yours but your body still went through so much and…well bloody hell you _died_ Harry, of course we brought you to the hospital!”

 

 Harry stared around at the fuzzy blank canvas of the hospital room. Hermione seemed to realise what was wrong and handed him his glasses from somewhere and her worried face was the first thing he saw clearly as he slid them up his nose. He felt a bit more at ease, being able to see clearly but he still felt…trapped, panicked. He didn’t want to be here and he didn’t know if that was the wolf or the human in him or both.

 

 “I want to see Kirian,” he said as he drank in the sterile white room with only a set of drawers as extra furnishing. It was clean and white and by no means small but still…suffocating. He needed air. He needed to see his little bludger. “He must be upset without me,” he said quickly, moistening his dry lips again. He still felt weak and light-headed but he didn’t care about that. “He needs me. How long has it even been?”

 

 Hermione was pouring him a glass of water from the jug that sat on the drawers then and handing it to him. “Small sips,” she said sternly and Harry obeyed, recognising the set of her expression – the only way he’d get his answers was if he’d obey. Sure enough, when he’d sipped for a few moments at the blessedly cool, clear water, she took her seat again, her hand resting gently on his calf on top of the itchy sheets.

 

 “It’s been five hours since you killed him, Voldemort,” she said, her tone tired but proud as she regarded him. Slowly, Ron reached forward and rested his hand atop Hermione’s, offering his silent support as well to them both. Harry sipped at his water but glanced appreciatively at Ron while he waited for Hermione to continue.

 

 “It’s quite late but it’s still the same day – night,” she corrected herself absently, her uncharacteristic inarticulacy tribute to how exhausted they all were, how much they’d been through. “Professor Snape was here with us the whole time but he left to fetch Malfoy and Kirian. They should be here soon.”

 

 A little calmed by that, Harry sipped the rest of his water in silence, letting the cooling liquid soothe his parched throat for a while. “Is everyone alright?” he asked eventually.

 

 Ron nodded. “We lost some aurors,” he said grimly, “Proudfoot, Savage, Williamson…”

 

 Harry recognised a few of the names but felt guilty that he hadn’t known them. He set his now empty glass down on the set of drawers beside his bed and sighed heavily. It was over, it was done and they were all safe. But people had died. It’d been inevitable, of course but still…

 

 Hermione squeezed his shin. “They didn’t die in vain,” she said comfortingly. “They died knowing they were making the world a better place. It’s over now and they’ll be honoured.”

 

 Harry nodded. He didn’t think that was enough compensation for all they’d given up though and the hot guilt flooded his already unsteady stomach. He listened quietly to Ron telling him about the Weasleys and Remus and Tonks, about how Echo had taken the Malfoys back to Grimmauld Place to reunite with Draco, about how Snape had nearly been arrested upon arrival and only Kingsley – _Minister Kingsley,_ elected in emergency had been able to stop them from dragging him off.

 

 “I know you had to do it,” Ron said then. “I know Snape had to as well. To be honest mate, I know we all loved Dumbledore but I think he made pawns out of you and Snape. You both got left with the short straws. You had to give up everything and Snape had to kill Dumbledore _and_ make sure you died too, which means everyone hates him. It’s not fair.” He looked disgruntled, but anything Hermione or he could say was cut off as a familiar shadow swept in through the door.

 

 “Surely that isn’t understanding and sympathy from you, Weasley? Perhaps the Dark Lord killed me after all,” Snape mused in his usual dry drawl as he stepped in, closely followed by Echo and a shattered looking Draco. Draco who had a bawling Kirian wrapped up in his arms.

 

 Harry sat up so quickly that the magical monitoring thread snagged painfully in the back of his wrist. He flinched, feeling the burn travel all the way up his arm and hearing Hermione’s hurried admonishment – ignoring both as Draco came to stand beside him. The last time he’d set eyes on Kirian, he’d thought he was saying goodbye. To see him again made Harry’s eyes sting treacherously and his chest ache as if someone were squeezing his lungs. It hurt. It hurt so bloody _good_.

 

 “Give him here,” he said, but his voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, breathy, barely there with emotion. Draco stared at his face, obviously assessing his health as he slid the squalling infant into Harry’s arms. Even that diminutive weight felt like a lot to Harry’s weakened limbs and to his chagrin, Draco had to help manoeuvre his arms so that he could hold Kirian securely against him without too much strain. In the end Kirian lay with his belly against Harry’s chest, tilted slightly into the crook of Harry’s arm so that when he took a deep sniff through his tiny snotty nose, and the scent of Harry made his tear-shiny eyes fly open, he could see Harry clearly.

 

 Absently, Harry wondered if even muggle babies were so aware of their parent’s presence, or if it was a werewolf cub thing. He didn’t care. Kirian’s cries died immediately, fading into soft, uncontrollable breathless gasps the way it did after a long cry. Ignoring Draco’s grimace of disdain, Harry wiped Kirian’s snotty nose with the corner of his blanket as he held that bright-green gaze.

 

 “He slept for the first hour or so,” Draco said carefully, voice tired and strained. “But he woke up with a cry and wouldn’t settle – Echo thought it must’ve been about the time you… Well, apparently werewolf cubs are especially in tune with their mothers. He wouldn’t eat or anything.”

 

  _About the time I died_ , Harry thought Draco had been about to say, not even having the heart to spit back that he wasn’t Kirian’s mother. Not right now anyway. He was too grateful for the warmth in his arms to care. “Thank you, Malfoy,” he said distractedly, voice still faraway and vague. He thought he heard Draco mutter something in return but didn’t pay attention.

 

“Hey,” he murmured softly, tilting Kirian up a bit more instinctively to help him breathe through the recovery from his tears. The little boy gave a tiny hiccup and turned his face into him, seemingly smelling him deeply. Harry could not help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, even knowing that Snape, Hermione, Echo, Draco and Ron were all watching him. Embarrassment would probably hit him later but right now, nothing else mattered.

 

 “Where’s Fenrir?” he asked without looking up, unable to tear his eyes away from Kirian’s face, as if he feared when he looked back he’d be gone. When only silence greeted his words, however, he forced himself to look up and saw that everyone looked grim. His heart stopped. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, “where is he?”

 

 Echo sighed as he stepped closer, casually setting his arm round Draco’s waist so that his hand rested on his opposite hip. Draco lowered his eyes to Kirian thoughtfully, cheeks burning but to Echo the action seemed natural and he didn’t even blink as he offered his reply.

 

 “He’s been banned from the hospital,” he admitted, “He grudgingly agreed that Snape and the others had to bring you here to be safe, that that was right for you but when he saw the nurse get near you when you were weak, when he felt your pain when she stuck those magical tubes in your arm a bit too fiercely he was just…” He grit his teeth for a moment, apparently wincing at the memory. “He went feral, or close to it.”

 

 Snape offered a derisive snort from where he stood at the end of the bed. “He nearly ripped the nurse’s arm clean off when she touched you. The only reason the hospital security didn’t arrest him on the spot was because the fates saw fit to send Kingsley by your room to check up on you. _Minister_ Kingsley, I should say,” he mused, “Newly elected to help us through our time of need. You owe him your _lover’s_ liberty, Mr Potter.”

 

 Harry didn’t much care for the mental image of Fenrir attacking a nurse who was trying to help him, or of hospital security trying to drag him off to Azkaban. Before he could say anything, however, Snape spoke again.

 

 “Needless to say his display of ardour and animalistic concern has drawn attention to your presence here. A special edition of the _Daily Prophet_ and every other newspaper and magazine in existence went out but an hour ago. I am not entirely sure what people are more interested in, that you killed the Dark Lord or that you are mated to a werewolf. A member of the Order must have sold the story of you and Greyback; there were details in there they only could have garnered from being at Grimmauld Place that night.”

 

 Harry winced. He knew that the wizarding world were aware he was with Fenrir as some sort of team against Voldemort, thanks to their display at the death eater meeting all those weeks ago. But now they knew everything. _Everything_.

 

 “Do you want to see the damage?” Draco asked carefully, pulling a neatly folded copy of the _Prophet_ out of his robe pocket. Harry caught a brief flash of an image of himself aged fifteen, the same one that’d been taken of him after he’d faced Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic and an image of Fenrir when he’d just escaped Azakaban. He could imagine what type of angle the media were spinning and sank back against his pillows and headboard with Kirian nuzzling quietly into him, his breathing calmed somewhat.

 

 “Not really,” he said at last, tired again all of a sudden. He thought longingly of the distant freedom, the peace of the valley and realised, with startling clarity that he could choose now. That that was probably his most imperative decision. It was almost more terrifying than the idea of facing Voldemort. His mouth felt dry. “Where is Fenrir now?” he asked, a little too quickly.

 

 Echo spoke this time. “I managed to apparate him back to Grimmauld Place. He calmed somewhat when he saw Kirian. When he was coherent he told us that Kirian needed you and then went for a run. We…we don’t know where he is. It’s been a few hours…”

 

 Harry stared at him, a feeling of dread swelling subtly in his already unsettled stomach. “Find him,” he breathed, unable to say anymore. Echo gave a short nod, looking glad to have an order to follow, something to do to help his alpha. He glanced to Draco and squeezed his hip gently, before stepping away and leaving the room. Harry watched Draco’s gaze follow him and couldn’t help but smile slightly, despite his concern for Fenrir.

 

 “Harry, mate,” Ron’s voice said after a short while, in which Kirian had calmed completely and begun to nuzzle at Harry’s chest. Harry glanced up to see Ron looking at Hermione, who was slumped at the end of the bed, head on her folded arms, eyes closed. Harry gave the sight a wry, grateful smile.

 

 “Take her home, Ron,” he said and as his friend reached over to wrap his arms round his girlfriend, Harry added, “Thank you. For everything. See you soon, alright?”

 

 Ron held Harry’s gaze for a moment and then gave him a tired smile. “See you soon, mate. No more heroic sacrifices, alright?”

 

 “Promise,” Harry agreed with a tired smile, watching as Ron urged a half-conscious, protesting Hermione out of the room. When the door closed behind them, Harry glanced quickly up at Snape and Draco, then down to Kirian again who was pawing at his chest determinedly. He hadn’t managed to get any food down since Harry had left him. The thought made him nauseous with guilt. He held the tiny boy closer in consolation.

 

 After shooting Snape and Draco a final awkward look, he pulled the itchy sheet up to his neck to cover himself and clumsily opened his hospital pyjama shirt to let Kirian latch onto him. It hurt and he let out a low hiss, carefully avoiding Snape and Draco’s faces as he gritted his teeth and bore it. His chest ached from what he suspected was a build-up of some kind (even if his chest still looked the same) but he didn’t care because as much as it embarrassed him, he’d thought he’d never get to feel this again. See his little bludger again.

 

 Bloody hell, his eyes were burning. He winced, determined not to cry in front of Snape and Draco and wondered where in Merlin’s fucking name Fenrir was.

 

 “Potter,” Draco said, his oddly uncertain tone cutting through Harry’s distressing thoughts. Harry glanced up as the blond continued, “I…I need to thank you,” he said, fidgeting where he stood, worrying the pages of the _Daily Prophet Specia_ l in his hands but forcing himself to face Harry still with his chin high. “You made sure everyone knew to get my parents home safe. They’ll face the Death Eater Trials, of course, as will I, but…we’re alive. We’re all alive.”

 

 Harry stared into clear grey eyes. What Draco had said summed it all up, he thought. Things weren’t over, they were only beginning. There was so much pain, heartache and trouble to wade through. Fenrir was missing, he, Harry still had no idea what to do with his life, Draco and his family would be tried for their crimes, perhaps Snape would too. His head began to throb. He closed his eyes against the too-bright clinical lights but nodded to Draco to make sure he knew that his words weren’t the cause of his distress. Not really.

 

 “Potter?” Draco asked, concern tinging his voice.

 

 Harry flailed a hand at him, feeling weak and light-headed again. So bloody tired. But his instincts hummed menacingly at the forefront of his mind, not wanting him to rest in such a strange place with hardly any pack and his mate missing in action. Especially with his cub so vulnerable and feeding voraciously from him.

 

 “You need to rest, Mr Potter,” Snape’s low drawl insisted, closer this time and Harry opened his eyes again to see Snape was sitting upright with his legs neatly crossed on the chair Hermione had vacated. “Draco and I will stay here while you sleep. No one will touch you.” That obsidian gaze bored into Harry insistently, leaving no room for negation and betraying further evidence of his concern for Harry’s well-being.

 

 Kirian gurgled contently against him and Harry glanced down through the peak in the sheet to see big green eyes blinking up at him, a tiny fist curled against his chubby cheek. Harry reached down to pull the hand away, stop him from clawing at his own face accidentally and just…forgot to breathe.

 

 It felt like a punch to the stomach that knocked all the wind out of him. He’d missed him so much. It’d felt like a lifetime since he left him. His eyes were stinging again. He was so bloody tired. Everything was going fuzzy. Was that the blood-loss and exhaustion or something they were drugging him up with via the magical threads? He glared at them hatefully, wanting darkness, the cosy warmth of his hollow and Fenrir and…

 

 “I want to be awake,” Harry insisted, not wanting to betray what he was really thinking. That he was worried about Fenrir, that he wanted to stay awake with Kirian – that he didn’t want to waste another second of his life sleeping when he could be staring into the face of his little bludger who had missed him so much, who he’d nearly never seen again.

 

 “He’ll be sleeping too after he’s fed, I’ll wager,” Draco mused, pulling the chair Ron had vacated closer so he was sitting nearer the head of the bed. “I’ll make sure you don’t roll over and squash him or something with that massive ‘World Savior’ ego of yours.”

 

 It was a tribute to how drained Harry was that he didn’t argue further, but instead let out a small, hysterical chuckle. He was being watched over by a pair of slytherins, perhaps the two most unlikely ones at that. So much had changed. He was so tired. “If he shits himself you have to change the nappy, no fobbing it off on Snape,” he chuckled, the sound strained and slightly higher than usual. That image was highly amusing. His eyes were drifting shut and he was falling limp against the pillows.

 

 “I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with one of those already thank you,” Draco began with clear disdain. “How something so small can make something so inherently _repulsive…_ ”

 

 He didn’t hear the rest of Draco’s rant because the world was going fuzzy and distant again. His little bludger was a warm weight in his arms, and Harry swore he felt Draco reach out to support his elbow when it started to drop slightly. Everything in his body ached and his head was starting to throb again. He was so tired, drained. Where was Fenrir?

 

 

_~To Be Continued…_

 


	25. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE ADDED SATURDAY 24TH JANUARY 2015 at 9.50pm (UK time)** : Just a quick warning that I have had the week from hell and a migraine all day which means I've not quite finished the next chapter. I still have one scene to write and as it's nearly 10pm now and I'm still feeling a bit feeble from the aftermath of the migraine I don't think I'll be able to finish tonight. I don't want to rush it, especially as we're so close to the end. I wouldn't feel right and you guys deserve better :)  
> So just to tell you I will be uploading chapter 26 **tomorrow** instead. And there will be another chapter after that as I couldn't fit all my 'plan' into just one -haha! So this story will be 27 chapters in total. Since I can't upload til tomorrow I'll give you a teaser by telling you that before the end you will have one more final Harry/Fenrir smut scene, one more full moon, dancing and some well-deserved fluff.  
>  I hope my punctual update schedule up til now will enable you to forgive my lateness now X3 I just really don't want to rush it through, not such an important part. Please forgive me and I'll see you all tomorrow evening with chapter 26. Love you all and thank you for all your support thus far xxx

.: Chapter Twenty-Five :.

Choices

 

 

“I don’t care what you say,” Harry growled darkly. “I’m weak, not an invalid. I’ll bloody do it.” The nurse he was glaring at fell silent, pursing her lips as he supported Kirian carefully in one arm and steadied himself on the headboard with the other. Draco looked gleefully amused while Snape seemed far more interested in his newspaper than seeing Harry battle against the nurse that had appeared, insisting that there was no hospital record of Kirian’s birth, weight or health.

_“He is a werewolf cub that was born in a cave – literally,”_ Snape had merely put in earlier, without even looking up from his copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

 

 When he was upright, Harry walked determinedly across the room to the scales that sat atop the mobile equipment the disapproving nurse had brought in. “This is most unorthodox,” she said as Harry made his slow but steady way to the trolley-like wooden unit and refused her hands when they reached for Kirian. He did manage to withhold a growl of warning, however, despite the way his instincts prickled at her proximity.

 

 Harry whipped off Kirian’s clothing and blanket but halted halfway through lowering him onto the smooth metal of the scales, when his knuckles brushed against the cold surface. Without thinking, he pulled Kirian back to his shoulder and swept his hand over the surface until it was warm to the touch. The instinctive wandless magic sent a little flutter of light-headedness through him, but he remained standing. He was getting better, he thought as he lowered Kirian onto the scales.

 

 “Hmmm, very light,” she commented, writing the measurement down on a scroll of official looking parchment. Apparently the wandless magic had gone unnoticed. She tapped her wand on the scales once, with Harry watching her wand carefully. It displayed Kirian’s height on the little wooden dashboard above; they were chiselled into being as if by an imaginary scribe, before vanishing again with another tap of her wand.

 

 Harry grit his teeth. “Werewolf cubs are always born small,” he bit out through the frisson of irritation.

 

 “When did you say he was born again?” she asked as a few more medical statistic displayed and then wiped themselves across the wooden backboard.

 

 “About a week ago,” he said, staring at her hard when she glanced up, clearly curious about his phrasing. She just wrote it down, then scrawled hastily for a few more seconds. Harry saw his own name and birth date among the tight, neat handwriting. “I need the other father’s full name and birth date.”

 

 Harry cocked a brow as he dressed and wrapped Kirian, pulling him back to the safety of his arms. He knew Fenrir would say he was going to make him needy and dependant but right now, after everything they’d gone through, he didn’t care. He wanted to hold him and Fenrir – well he wasn’t bloody here, was he? _He’s off doing Merlin knows what_. Bitterness tinged the thoughts and he struggled to keep his composure. It was probably everything that had happened, everything he’d endured but he _needed_ Fenrir right now and it might be irrational, but he didn’t care what reason was keeping the man away. He just needed him. Wanted him.

 

 “His other father is Fenrir Greyback, don’t pretend you haven’t heard,” he said sharply, the headache left over from his ordeal, Fenrir’s absence and the suffocating four walls of the hospital room all making his voice rough with irritation. “I don’t know when his birthday is – does that make it even more scandalous? My son’s name is Kirian Potter Greyback, is that all?”

 

 The nurse gave him a disdainful sniff, before writing down something else on the parchment, pushing a duplicate into his palm and then sweeping out of the room. The unit rolled after her as if on an invisible string and Harry was left alone with Kirian, Snape and Draco’s dry laughter.

 

 “You are a moody bastard, Potter,” Draco mused, eyes bright. Harry glared but in truth it was good to see him in such good humour.

 

 “You’re welcome to leave,” he said shortly, stowing Kirian’s birth certificate in the backpack Hermione had left and sliding back onto the bed with great effort to his tired limbs.

 

 “But then who would keep you from further heroic acts?” Draco said lightly, flicking his wand that he’d apparently been reunited with at the same time as his parents. He kept casting _Lumos_ or _Wingardium Leviosa_ , just because, seemingly needing to check his magic every few moments to ensure it hadn’t vanished. After a moment, however, Harry saw Draco glance at him out of the corner of his eye, uncertain.

 

 “I need to be here,” Draco said at last, stowing his wand and carefully avoiding Harry’s eye.

 

 “Is your dad still here?” he asked carefully. Draco had thanked him under his breath for getting the others to keep his parents safe. As far as Harry knew, Lucius had been admitted to St Mungo’s for recovery from nerve damage from extensive use of the _Cruciatus_ , Narcissa had been at his side but that was all Draco had said. Draco tensed at Harry’s words and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape glance up from his newspaper.

 

 “The aurors came and took mother and father into custody,” Draco said quietly. “They said not to make myself scarce.”

 

 Harry froze. “You…you can’t mean that they want to _arrest_ you?” he demanded, looking to Snape when Draco didn’t answer.

 

 Snape stared at him levelly, dropping the newspaper onto the end of Harry’s bed. “The public are demanding retribution – they want to see every death eater brought before the Wizengamot. Kingsley managed to pardon me as Minister, for working with the Order but he cannot dismiss everyone’s discretions so easily. Draco may have to go before them and he may well be found guilty. A great deal of people have never forgiven him for letting death eaters into the school.” His voice was level, unmoved but Harry could see the flickers of concern in his eyes.

 

 “But…he _had_ to do that!” Harry said beseechingly. “Voldemort would have killed him and his parents if he’d refused!” When he focussed on Draco again, the blond was staring at the far wall, expression so haunted that Harry knew he was thinking of that night on the Tower. “Draco, you couldn’t have done anything different,” Harry insisted. The use of the man’s first name seemed to shake him from his reverie.

 

 “Don’t be so bloody noble, Potter,” Draco said, voice strained, “I could’ve done the right thing instead of the easy thing – I could’ve let Severus help me, I could’ve let _Dumbledore_ help me but I was too much of a coward. Don’t try and justify it. I made a mistake that hurt people, and yes, the Dark Lord forced me to torture people but I _did_ it.”

 

 Harry winced. “You were sixteen,” he began.

 

 Draco glared. “So were you. I’m not saying I wanted to be a saint but I…” He sighed and glanced away again. “I’ve lived through a war, I lived as a prisoner in my own home and then I was… _adopted_ by werewolves, impure werewolves who I’d been raised to hate and fear equally. Everything has changed, Potter, I’ve changed – enough to realise I was…an idiot.” He pronounced the last two words with such difficulty and such honesty that Harry was forced to remember just how much Draco had changed since their schooldays.

 

 After a short silence, Draco sighed. He was as uncomfortable as Harry when it came to admitting his faults and emotions. He reached across the bed to snatch up Snape’s fallen newspaper – mostly to hide behind, rather than to read, Harry thought.

 

 “Anyway, I do not think the Ministry can use me as a scapegoat or punish me for the sake of it. I’m not overly concerned about what they might say,” Draco said in an attempt at dismissiveness. “Not about me anyway.”

 

 Harry raised a brow, sitting up higher in the bed and pulling his knees up so he could lay Kirian back against his knees and look at Draco fully. Snape sat up a little straighter too, so Harry thought he didn’t know what Draco had meant by that either. “Go on,” Harry said, knowing Draco well enough by now to realise when he was waiting for Harry to prompt him.

 

 Draco didn’t look up from behind the newspaper. “I asked Minister Shacklebolt when he was here to stop the aurors from taking Severus and Greyback into custody; they cannot try a werewolf under human laws.”

 

 “Unless there is something you wish to tell me, Draco,” Snape began, “You are not a werewolf.”

 

 “As good as,” Draco said dismissively and then after a final heartbeat, lowered the newspaper to look levelly at Snape, then at Harry. “After Lupin and Granger ‘rescued’ you and the rogues were dead, that old woman Eithne came up from the village to help heal the wounded. She had to pay particular attention me, of course because I’m human. She is very knowledgeable about all sorts of magic.”

 

 Harry frowned, not sure where this was going. “Well, yeah,” he said, “she’s old. She’s seen a lot.” He determinedly ignored Snape’s sound of amused exasperation and Draco’s rolling eyes.

 

 “Yes,” Draco said dryly. “Regardless, she said since she met you she’d been doing some digging and, well…”

 

 Harry watched Draco delve into his robe pocket, drawing out a shrunken pile of tattered, ancient looking books that had been bound together with golden string. Draco flicked his wand, returning them to their normal size before laying them on the bed so that Snape and Harry could both see. They’d seen better days that was obvious – one of them was even missing a cover and it seemed a few pages but the words Harry saw on the stained page drew him in.

 

 Easing Kirian up into the crook of an arm Harry sat forward at the same time as Snape did. Harry felt all the saliva dry in his throat. It looked like a poem, rhyming verse written in artistic, elegant script. Much newer tight, neat handwriting filled the margins in red ink, underlining phrases and highlighting sections, adding attached notes. Draco’s handwriting – it was all over an archaic poem that used words that made Harry’s insides tighten.

 

 “It’s the ritual, isn’t it?” Harry breathed, voice a barely there whisper. When no answer came and he looked up into Draco’s eyes. Those grey orbs were bright and determined. The blond nodded and Harry reached forward, gently tracing Draco’s notes on the rhyming verse. “The one to make…people like me? It’s a spell?” he asked, awestruck.

 

 “A spell and a potion combined,” Draco said, leaning forward so that now all three of them were staring at the books the oddest looking study group the world had probably seen. “I’ve been studying it. The original witch’s verse cryptically refers to ingredients and the manner in which they must be mixed – essentially it’s a big flamboyant potion’s recipe. But there are Latin words mixed in, seemingly just to make it rhyme but no, the words, when all taken separately, they form the spell to be read as the potion is spilled.”

 

 Harry blinked. “Spilled?”

 

 “Yes. The final piece _‘through the vessel must it be spilled, through gifted flesh, then new lives you can build’,_ the other texts make specific references to her spilling the potion over those who wished to change. To be with werewolves the way you can. She would spill it through her fingers and in doing so anoint it with her magic, letting the potion and spell carry her… _essence_ if you will into others so they could be like her.”

 

Harry sat back and stared, unnerved because he knew what Draco was getting at.

 

 “You want to use Potter in her stead,” Snape surmised, getting there before Harry could find the words. “You want him to perform the ritual as the witch once did to share her immunity to the werewolf venom, to allow werewolf mates to carry their young.”

 

 Harry stared down at the books, then at Kirian’s serious little expression. He pulled his little bludger’s blanket up round his chin and used the motion to disguise the way he stroked his cheek. If Draco was right, this ritual wouldn’t help Larentia – she was already a werewolf and so could not carry young, but it would mean all others could have their own children if they found a human mate willing to change for them. It would mean he wouldn’t be the only one. It would mean the beginning of rebuilding the kind of packs they’d had before _The Hunt_ had destroyed them all.

 

 “I didn’t think you were interested in children,” Harry said, “I mean you always seemed terrified of Kirian.”

 

 Draco flushed dark with embarrassed annoyance. “Any sane eighteen year old male would be intimated by such a tiny child, Potter. Don’t be obtuse. I’m not talking about having children _now_ anyway – the only thing I want right now is to be with Echo. With him, _properly,_ connected the way you are with Greyback. I don’t want to be a werewolf, but what you are is different it’s…”

 

 He looked awkward, and for once like he couldn’t find the words. “I don’t have to justify it, Potter. Suffice to say I want to be his, to share everything with him, I want to be with the pack and one day, when I find the notion less daunting and… _peculiar_ then I might like the opportunity to have children with him, yes.”

 

 Snape sat back in his chair then, taking the topmost book with him and flicking through it with interest. “Perhaps if you can still produce an heir your father’s good opinion may be won over again someday. However, you have misconstrued a few meanings here – a few ingredients. I think perhaps this needs a shrewder eye,” he began distractedly.

 

 Draco looked hopeful. “Well, yes I…I was hoping you would be the one to brew the potion part, actually.”

 

 Snape raised a brow. “I did glance at those notes in the margin – it would need to be brewed with Potter’s magic. In other words, you would need us both to not only survive each other in a potion’s lab but also… _work together_.”

 

 Harry felt a sick sense of dread overcome him. “Bloody hell,” he murmured.

 

 “Precisely,” Snape said sardonically.

 

 Draco clucked his tongue in annoyance. “If you can work together to defeat the Dark Lord then you can work together to give me and everyone else who falls in love with a werewolf a chance at sodding happiness.” Obviously realising how much he had revealed about his feelings, Draco’s face went completely red and he rose hurriedly to his feet. “I’m going to the lavatory,” he announced, hastening to the door. He was gone in a moment and Kirian chose that moment to turn and vomit spectacularly all down Harry’s front.

 

 “Urgh,” Harry grumbled, his annoyance tampered by the pitiful cry his bludger’s little lungs made – only just. He’d been quick enough to catch it with the magical blanket the rest of the time, but this time Kirian had managed to get none down himself, only on Harry. That took skill, Harry thought with a wince as he set Kirian down securely on the bed and got up.

 

 “Not quite the future you envisioned for yourself, Mr Potter?” Snape asked, sounding as if he were trying very hard not to be amused, while Harry tugged off the hospital pyjama shirt. The fabric was so flimsy he doubted it’d survive a cleansing charm. He kicked it to the corner and stared down at his son, exasperated in only a pair of scratchy hospital trousers.

 

 Kirian began to whine louder as he realised he’d been put down and Harry winced, disliking the sound – not just his wolf but the human in him aching to reach forward. Tugging one of the pillow cases off the pillows he transfigured it into a baggy, inelegant but practical shirt and dragged it on over his head. In that time, Snape had inclined his head to regard Kirian with a peculiar expression – almost assessing.

 

 “I’m not sure what type of future lies ahead of me to be honest, sir,” Harry said honestly, taking up the seat Draco had vacated and leaning forward across the bed so his arms framed Kirian’s wriggling body. The position effectively calmed Kirian’s fussing and gave Harry an escape from the bloody hospital bed without taxing his unsteady body too greatly.

 

 “I think now that you have completed your task, your future is what you make it, Mr Potter,” Snape replied.

 

 Harry sighed, staring down at Kirian. He thought the little face was twitching as if trying to smile today, but he hadn’t quite managed control of his facial muscles yet. It made Harry smile regardless of the storm raging in his mind. He brushed those dark curls with his thumbs thoughtfully, forgetting Snape’s watchful gaze for a moment. “The truth is, though I hate being trapped in this hospital room…” He paused, gritting his teeth around the mawkish words that had threatened to escape.

 

 “It is a good stalling tactic?” Snape supplied.

 

 Harry winced and said nothing, thinking longingly of his warm bed of furs with the semi-translucent hangings and the warm fire and the hot spring bath and…

 

 It was Snape’s turn to sigh this time. “You’ve done your duty, Potter,” he said shortly, “now you must decide what you want to do – what is best for you and that boy. You cannot hide in here forever.”

 

 Harry’s head snapped up. He glared. “I’m not bloody hiding, alright?” he snapped, even though maybe he was a bit. “Everybody is telling me the right thing is something else and I’m just… _I’m_ at peace with me, with the wolf and the human, if you like but the two worlds those different parts belong to aren’t. I feel like I have to choose between my two lives and it’s just too bloody hard, alright?” By the end his voice was harsh, loud and Kirian gurgled unhappily. Harry sat back, pulling him against his chest apologetically as he did so. He cradled the tiny soft body against his chest, feeling more at ease now the comparatively soft fabric of the transfigured shirt let Kirian’s warmth through more easily. Harry bowed his head subtly to his cub’s head and sniffed softly at his hair, letting the scent calm him. Except the action itself made him think of Fenrir and his chest twisted in that painful, aching way.

 

 Where the fuck was Fenrir?

 

 “Do not be such an ungrateful, melodramatic little twit, Potter, it is unbecoming,” Snape said sharply.

 

 “I’m not being ungrateful,” Harry said, offended, “just…thoughtful.”

 

 “Who on earth said that you have to choose, besides yourself?” Snape said blankly, making Harry’s head snap up to regard him curiously, shocked. Snape looked as if he wanted to shake his head in exasperation – but he didn’t. “You do get some peculiar notions into your head, Potter. Perhaps if there was a bit less room in there you would not have that trouble? Did you not see your friends standing behind you and Greyback in that Merlin forsaken _cavern?_ Did you miss them gathered around the table at Grimmauld Place? I thought your sight should have been improved with werewolf blood not worsened. As for the rest of your confusion, perhaps you should realise that you are not the only eighteen year old boy who does not know what he wants.”

 

 Harry felt his face heat. “Bastard,” he snarled without venom, pushing the chair he was in around moodily so he could pull his shirt up to feed Kirian without Snape watching. He knew the action was punctuated by unavoidable childishness but he didn’t care. Not much anyway. Just a bit. Because Snape was right and that was the most annoying thing. Everything was making him bloody tetchy…

 

 He needed more sleep. How much sleep had he actually got since Kirian was born? He frowned. That was how much, so little that he couldn’t even count. Hmm.

 

 After Kirian had let himself nurse to sleep, Harry pulled his shirt back down and just held him, letting his head tip back to rest on the slightly raised hospital bed. He stared up at the ceiling and sighed his defeat. “You’re right, sir,” he admitted, voice low, conceding, just slightly tinged with petulance. He _heard_ Snape smirk. The bastard.

 

 “Of course I am, Potter, but at least you were able to recognise it this time. There is hope for you yet.” There was that dry sarcasm again that was Snape’s version of teasing. Harry closed his eyes and just let tiredness take him for a second.

 

 “I think I can put up with your snarky face for Draco,” Harry murmured without any real hatred. He could _still_ hear Snape smirking.

 

 “For the greater good, Potter,” Snape agreed, clearly amused. “If Draco and yourself could learn to work together and even call each other by your first names then perhaps anything is possible.”

 

 Harry slumped a little further in the chair. Kirian nuzzling in sleep into his chest, just below his heart. “I’m not cleaning your sodding cauldrons though,” Harry added, just to get the last word, just so Snape would know some things never changed. Snape was still bloody smirking.

 

*                    *                    *

 

 Draco exhaled as he splashed cold water across his face, gripping the edge of the sink in the hospital toilet and staring carefully at his reflection. It wasn’t lost on him that he’d been in this exact position before, that the last time it hadn’t been his own feelings he was so worked up about. It was really over. It would take some time to process that. The war was over.

 

 The war was really done.

 

 And he was in love. With a man – a werewolf.

 

 “I’ve spent far too much time with Potter,” he concluded under his breath, looking down at the clinically clean white basin. His knuckles tightened around the rim as he recalled his parents’ faces when they’d apparated back into Grimmauld Place under Echo’s steam after the battle. His father had barely been conscious but he’d gripped the back of Draco’s neck and gasped out his relief. His mother had sobbed uncontrollably and held him close. They’d all been so relieved to see each other that it didn’t occur to them until much later to speak about what had been happening.

 

 His father’s tapestry that dominated the entire entrance hall had displayed his connection to Echo, it seemed and whilst sitting at his father’s bedside here at St Mungo’s as he was put into a deep sleep recovery, his mother had looked at him earnestly. She hadn’t looked angry or disappointed, only confused, lost. Draco thought she’d never looked as vulnerable as she had when she’d taken his hand in both of hers and whispered, _“Did they force you? Did they turn you? Did they hurt you?”_

 

 Draco had been shocked by the question and even more shocked that when he’d denied all of those things, and mumbled _“I chose him,”_ his mother had continued to hold his hand.

 

  _“I don’t understand_ , _”_ she’d said, her voice small as she caressed his fingers.

 

 Draco sighed now as he stared at his face in the mirror again. _“I don’t really either,”_ he’d admitted to her. _“But I know what I feel. I’m sorry.”_

 She had regarded him thoughtfully for a long time before saying just as softly, _“I’m so proud of you, Draco. My sweet boy – I’m so sorry for everything…”_

 

 Biting at his lip at contain the swell of emotion in his throat, Draco pushed back from the sink only to be startled from his thoughts by a sharp knocking on the door. With a frown, Draco looked around the toilets. There were three stalls, three urinals and three sinks. The door wasn’t locked and he was the only one in here. Why didn’t whoever it was just come in? He said nothing. The knocking returned, more rampant than before.

 

 “Draco Abraxas Malfoy?” A hard, official sounding voice demanded. “Please come out here. You are wanted for questioning.”

 

 Draco froze, eyes wide. He’d known the aurors would come for him but he hadn’t thought it would be so soon, when there were so many bigger, more notorious death eaters to capture and question. _They won’t use me as a sodding scapegoat,_ he thought bitterly, staring around the room. There were no real windows in this part of the hospital, only charmed ones and you could only disapparate in certain parts.

 

  _Fuck,_ he thought, just as the door flew open and five aurors piled in, badges blazing on their chests and wands raised. Draco backed into the sinks, not sure what to do. If he went with them, he had no doubts of what humiliating secrets they would force out of him with veritaserum. He knew how they would twist things just to get _someone_ to blame for Dumbledore’s death, because they could not have Snape. Shacklebolt would not be able to use his influence too often and would surely not waste it on him?

 

 Lifting his chin in defiance and bravery he didn’t feel, Draco grit his teeth in a way Potter might do. The door flew open again and ricocheted hard off the wall, making the aurors jump. Everyone, including Draco froze at the sight of Echo in the doorway, eyes blazing gold and usually impassive face twisted with a warning snarl. A shudder of fear rushed through Draco as he gripped the edge of the sink with one hand, wand grasped in the other. He’d never seen Echo in this state before, the kind he’d seen Greyback fall prey to a few times – he wasn’t sure if he was about to see a massacre or not. He swallowed hard.

 

 “S-Stay back werewolf!” The male auror, the one who’d spoken to Draco said, nobly standing his ground while his companions edged back slightly.

 

 Echo growled darkly, pushing the door shut behind him as he stalked forward. “Stand down,” he demanded, dangerously calm. The rich, husky voice tugged at Draco’s stomach and something lower, tightening until his breath hitched – just enough for Echo to hear, it seemed for he glanced to Draco at the sound, a smile changing the exposure of pearly white teeth.

 

 “We have to take him to the Ministry!” the same auror said, voice struggling to remain strong.

 

 Echo’s gaze snapped back to him so quickly that everyone in the room flinched.

 

 “He’s not yours to take,” he warned.

 

 “He is not a werewolf! And as such he must adhere to human rules and come with the aurors without question.”

 

 A snarl was the only answer Echo gave, he launched forward, the spells the aurors threw at him missing completely. He gripped the leader’s throat in one elegant fist, hauling the taller male close until they were nose to nose. “Get. Out,” Echo murmured darkly.

 

 Draco watched as the man was dropped unceremoniously and all five aurors darted for the door. He barely heard their promise that they would be back, because Echo’s gold eyes were on him now as he stepped forward, movements slow and precise. Draco fidgeted where he stood and watched him carefully, heat and fear coiling together in his chest.

 

 “Echo?” he asked uncertainly, when the man was so close their chests were touching, Draco’s heart and breath hammering in his lungs. He drew in a sharp breath as Echo stared down at him, gold eyes caressing the length of his body before settling on his eyes again. Holding onto the breath, Draco closed his eyes when he realised that he might be challenging Echo and everything in him clenched in anticipation. As ever, the display of understanding of his kind, of his needs made Echo surge and he pinned Draco to the sinks with his hips, a growl of urgency vibrating against Draco’s mouth as Echo took him with a kiss.

 

 “Mine,” Echo growled out, hands on Draco’s wrists, trapping them against the sink. “Safe.”

 

 “Yes,” Draco agreed readily, forcing his voice steady as Echo pushed the telltale hardness into his hip as their bodies slid together. Tilting his head to deepen their kiss, he slid his tongue alongside Echo’s and just sank into him, groaning into that mouth and rutting gently against him. When his lips were spit-shiny and swollen he dragged his lips away despite Echo’s growl of protest, mouthing the man’s jaw and neck, suck-biting gently and grinding his aching length into his lover’s until brilliant white heat pulsed low in his belly.

 

 After a moment Draco found Echo’s hand on his nape, gripping just hard enough to still his head so that he too could mark Draco’s neck with his lips, his scent, dragging a light trail of spit-wet kisses along his jaw, neck and collarbone. Draco rolled his head back into the fist gripping him, hips jutting forward into Echo as far as they could go. He flicked his wand at the door, locking it quickly and then letting his wand clatter uselessly to the floor, the sign of ultimate trust.

 

 “Give it to me now,” Draco demanded, voice more composed than he felt, just barely coherent but eloquently breathless. He felt Echo’s chuckle against his pulse, such a human sound. Draco laughed softly back, shoving hard at his lover’s chest and turning, bracing himself with his hands against the mirror over the shallow sink. It was an awkward angle but they could see each other’s faces this way and he could feel Echo against his backside through their clothing.

 

 When Echo only dragged his eyes over Draco’s back and arse, Draco spread his legs wider and glared hard at his reflection. Despite his uncertainty, his character had never permitted him to be anything less than assertive, confident and proud. As always, he lifted his slightly pointed chin and ordered, in the voice Echo affectionately called his ‘refined spoilt-brat’ voice, “Right now. Give it to me.”

 

 Echo’s eyes flashed, the amber-gold gone now and they met Draco’s in the mirror, before he glanced down as he tugged at Draco’s trousers. Draco hissed as cool air licked at his already hard cock and backside and material bunched around his ankles.

 

 “Step out of them,” Echo breathed in his ear, “put one knee up on the counter.”

 

 Draco leant more heavily against the mirror to obey, glancing back over his shoulder to see Echo releasing his own cock from his trousers. “We’ll have to be quick, unless you want your name and some very scandalous accusations splashed across the media. They’re lurking around the hospital at the moment.” He punctuated his words by spitting discreetly onto his hand, massaging his own cock and lowering himself to his knees behind Draco. He used his free hand to push at one of Draco’s buttocks, tongue flicking out to tease at the pink, furled entrance.

 

 Drawing in a sharp breath, Draco reached down with one hand, stroking his own cock slowly. “Mmm hurry up,” he urged him, “you were so bloody hot just then. Hot and scary.”

 

 Echo chuckled against him, lathing his entrance with his tongue in slow, wet circles. Draco groaned, pushing his arse back and stroking himself faster, forehead resting against the mirror, the edge of the sink counter biting into his knee.

 

 “You have no idea how sexy you look down here,” Echo mused, releasing his cock in favour of spreading Draco’s hole open, the flesh soft and flushed, used to his attentions by now and craving it wantonly. He pierced the ring with his tongue, let spittle gather there and spread it inside, wetting it slowly, firmly, the way he knew drove Draco mad.

 

 “Now,” Draco demanded huskily, fingers sliding down to cup his own taut bollocks, “Fucking _now_.”

 

 With a soft breath of laughter, Echo licked two fingers generously and slid them inside, crooking at the little nub and circling gently there until Draco started to cant his hips uncontrollably. Rising to his feet, Echo pressed himself flat to Draco’s back. He nosed gently into the dishevelled blond hair at the back of his head and splayed his fingers wide, coating the soft, pliant walls with his saliva before bringing them together again to massage the little place that made Draco shudder and pant so nicely.

 

 “Ready baby?” he murmured.

 

 Draco grit his teeth. He loved and hated and loved and _hated_ that plebeian, muggle pet name. _Hated_ it and yet Echo was so affectionate and… Draco had no words, he just opened his eyes and caught Echo’s in the mirror. His own reflection was flushed from hairline to chest, eyes dark with lust, lips parted, it was embarrassing to see but the hunger in his lover’s eyes was all-consuming. Draco nodded, pushing back into the fingers urgently, groaning softly as they withdrew.

 

 Even with eyes dark and cock aching, Echo still smiled, still laughed softly, always warm and glowing and holding Draco’s eyes as he guided his cock to his entrance with a final caress of spittle. Draco gasped softly at the feeling of being filled, at the sensation of being breached and as always, unwilling to just take it he pushed back, greedily swallowing everything until his arsed was pressed against Echo’s hips.

 

 “Impatient,” Echo said against his shoulder, biting it gently as one hand gripped his hip, the other reaching up to cover Draco’s hand with his on the mirror. It was such a raw, startling image that something tightened in Draco’s belly and he was taken by surprise when Echo nearly withdrew and slammed back inside, hard.

 

 “That’s it,” Echo growled, “Push back. Take it from me.”

 

 Draco let go of his cock and steadied himself with both hands on the mirror now, one entwined with Echo’s, eyes fluttering closed as he shoved back into Echo’s hips, filling himself, controlling their fucking. Then Echo’s free hand released his hip, letting him go mad, letting him slam his arse back brutally until the sounds of their frantic, messy fucking filled the toilets.

 

 So quick, so dirty. Draco had never thought he’d ever find someone wanted him so badly they just have to have him, right there. It was heady and dizzying. He felt heat boil his blood and his groans were turning into sharp, desperate pants that he could hear echoing off the tiles.

 

 “I can see your cock leaking in the mirror,” Echo whispered, licking the shell of his ear as he leisurely pushed forward to meet Draco’s hurried, frenzied movements. They were both so close, so ready. Echo was pressed in tight to the skin of his back, fingers gripping his hard on the glass and cock pushing forward into the place that made Draco’s erection throb warningly. So close.

 

 “You look utterly debauched,” Echo teased, curling his hand around that neglected organ and stroking it in time with their hips. “Open your eyes.”

 

 Draco’s lashes fluttered and he met Echo’s burning gaze in the mirror, just as those fingers twisted just right on his cock.

 

 “Give it to me,” Echo whispered, repeating Draco’s words. He coaxed a ragged, helpless cry from Draco’s lips as well as pulse after pulse of pearly come, that painted his fist and the mirror. Draco was shaking, limbs aching and cramping at the awkward position but he didn’t stop, he rutted back into that hardness, taking it harder, faster until every last drop of liquid ecstasy was drained from his body.

 

 Struggling out from between Echo and the mirror, Draco dropped inelegantly to his knees. Casting a quick cleaning spell with his wand, he let it fall back to the floor again and tilted his head up to meet those eyes once more as he swallowed his lover’s erection down, breathless, greedy. Echo’s fingers slid into his hair, stroking, not gripping, not pushing. Draco hummed around the leaking prick, nosing deep into the pubic hair at the base.

 

 “So good,” Echo ground out, brushing the back of the fingers of his free hand over Draco’s cheek as he sucked, tongue flickering at the base and the weeping slit whenever his head drew up. “Love your mouth. That’s it, so close, take it…take it all.”

 

 “Give it to me,” Draco demanded again, their teasing, familiar words tumbling over his moist lips as he dragged them over the sticky, purple head. He sucked at just the tip letting it rest on his tongue as he stroked the thick shaft eagerly.

 

 “Such a spoiled brat,” Echo laughed softly, the sound interrupted by a breathy groan as his orgasm caught him, spilling over Draco’s tongue and making Echo slump back against the sinks. The usually smiley, ridiculously calm, composed man was unsteady, breathless and Draco inwardly beamed at the sight, swallowing the musky fluid and pushing up to his feet slowly. He covered the shakiness in his legs by leaning forward to kiss his lover’s jaw. Eyes closed, body relaxed and sated, Draco wrapped his arms round the man’s neck and just stood there for a moment, basking in the intimacy between them.

 

 “I told Severus and Potter about my research,” he said eventually into Echo’s neck, the man’s hand pausing in caressing his hair for a moment, before resuming. Echo turned his head to kiss Draco’s cheek.

 

 “It’s a noble cause,” he said, sounding pleased and satisfied. He extricated himself from Draco’s embrace long enough to banish the mess they’d made of the mirror and tuck himself back into his trousers. “Do you feel better now?” he asked, watching as Draco pulled his own underwear and trousers back up, then toed his shoes on. They weren’t officially mated, not yet anyway and so Echo couldn’t feel his emotions, but he was astute enough to know that Draco had been worried about his parents, about his own potential trial, then obviously threatened by the men who’d just tried to arrest him.

 

 “Yes,” Draco said, without hesitation. “You?” Echo’s smile said it all, Draco’s insides clenched warmly at the sight of it. But then Draco frowned. “What do you mean, _noble cause_?” he repeated indignant.

 

 Echo sighed indulgently. “Let’s not have this conversation in a hospital toilet?” he suggested, taking Draco’s hand and sniffing carefully at the door to ensure no one was there, before walking out into the hall. It was embarrassing, but in a good way to walk through the hospital with someone’s fingers interlaced with his own, someone he cared about, someone who could care less that he was Draco Malfoy and a death eater and everything that followed. It made Draco have to try very hard not to smile and it almost made him forget to be sullenly silent – almost.

 

 “I know you think you’re going to be the first to test the ritual when you, the professor and Harry master it,” Echo said as they stepped outside into the brisk London air.

 

 Draco wrenched his hand out of Echo’s and glared at him. “ _Think_ I am? Do not patronise me,” he snapped.

 

 Echo just looked amused, which was all the more infuriating. He stepped in close, not caring about the members of general public moving past them and wrapped his arms round Draco, nuzzling gently against his ear until the stiffness eased from his limbs. “You are so endearing when you are being a petulant little pureblood,” he mused, kissing the shell of his ear slowly, drawing back to look into Draco’s eyes. “I love you,” Echo said and the words made a wonderful fluttering feeling burst in Draco’s stomach, like nausea but good, warm and gentle. It must have shown on Draco’s face because Echo slid his hands down to grip Draco’s hips, the way he liked, his affectionate _‘tell’_ and brought their lips together in a gentle brush.

 

 Draco thought a few people glanced their way but he could care less. He allowed a smile to touch his mouth as Echo drew back again – just a small one.

 

 “I love you,” Echo said again, “But you’re only eighteen.”

 

 Draco’s smile faded. “I thought we had the argument about the age difference already?” he asked, annoyed.

 

 Echo laughed. “Yes. You won it, I remember distinctly the triumphant face and the _‘victory service’_ you required after. This isn’t about that. I’m not trying to convince you we shouldn’t be together, we’re past that.”

 

 Draco flushed a little at the teasing reminder and lifted his chin in challenge. “What then?”

 

 Echo glanced around. The crowds had vanished now it seemed and they were quite alone on the hospital steps. “This isn’t like with Harry. His circumstances were different and in any case, the werewolf lineage was already a part of him. You are talking about changing yourself – into something your family raised you to detest–”

 

 “It’s different now!” Draco insisted. But Echo kept talking.

 

 “You’ve just been through a war and torture and things an eighteen year old shouldn’t have to face. Once you make this change, there’s no going back.”

 

 “You think I’ll regret it?” Draco asked, “That I’ll just change my mind? Do you insult me by insinuating I’m so fickle?”

 

 Echo smirked. “No. No, in fact you’re probably the most stubborn little sod I’ve met,” he laughed. “But I’m not going anywhere. _We_ are not going anywhere. We can have many years together before you decide to make the change. There’s no rush and I want you to be sure.”

 

 “I _am_ sure,” Draco argued, though he sensed he was losing this one. Which just wasn’t right. He hated losing – Echo was a much better loser than he was, that was why Draco always got to win.

 

 “Yes,” Echo agreed, and actually there was no part of him that was patronising, only honest, loving and thoughtful. “You’re young, arrogant and impetuous. You’ve never been in love before me.” He leant in again, kissing Draco more firmly this time, brushing his thumb just under Draco’s jaw. “Just in this one thing, be patient for me, alright?”

 

 Draco sighed. Echo did seem to have a soft spot for his spoiled streak and it was quite fun to indulge in, but in reality he _had_ changed and he could see reason when faced with it. Even if he didn’t like it. “Alright,” he agreed. He could be mature, when it mattered. He had changed, he thought for the better. “I’m not waiting _years_ though,” he added, “One, maybe two at the most.”

 

 Echo laughed again, the sound buzzed pleasantly through Draco’s skin.

 

 “I love you too, you know,” Draco added awkwardly. “You know, just in case you wondered.”

 

 “Draco Malfoy,” Echo replied softly, pressing his forehead to Draco’s as he inhaled his scent slowly. “You _are_ a romantic at heart.”

 

 “Silly arse.”

 

*                    *                    *

 

 The sling wrapped around Harry kept Kirian strapped securely to his chest, but he still kept one arm curled around him for extra support, for protection as he kept his head down, moving quickly and quietly through the crowds. He flattened his fringe down over his forehead as he moved through St Mungo’s halls, amazed that no one had noticed him yet with his face plastered over every magazine and newspaper as far as the eye could see.

 

 Everyone seemed distracted by the victory, the end of the war. Their chatter was animated, their voices light and hopeful, the darkness that had settled over the world receded as if a tide of warmth had swept over everything. Despite his urgent need to escape the suffocating place, the stares and the judging hospital staff, he was uplifted by this change. The world was a more hopeful place despite the uncertainty of what was to come.

 

  _Kingsley will be a good leader_ , he reassured himself, knowing the man would do the right thing by death eaters and aurors alike.

 

 After Snape had left on a mission to aid in Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s trials, Harry had dressed quickly. He scrawled out a note for the hospital staff, though he _knew_ it would probably end up all over the bloody media by tomorrow, he didn’t care. He wanted out.

 

 He’d sent his patronus to Hermione earlier and now he was making a break for it, before the hospital staff could make a fuss and alert the reporters lurking around the hospital (illegally) to his whereabouts. Kingsley had tried to ban them from the hospital of course but he didn’t trust that a certain animagus wouldn’t have found her way in at the very least.

 

 Kirian whinged against his collarbone and Harry stroked his back through the carrier, murmuring softly. “Alright Little Bludger, nearly there,” he promised, taking the last flight of stairs down into the main atrium. It was teeming with people, all bustling about and celebrating delightedly with hugs and chattering and jovial singing. Harry smiled at the display, at the genuinely happy, thankful people as he weaved silently between them. The sounds and the sights and the smells were too much for tiny Kirian though and he started to fuss.

 

 “Calm down,” Harry soothed, or tried to as he made slow progress through the mass of bodies toward the main entrance, where he knew he’d be able to apparate out. He’d not even gotten half way, however before his instincts started to surge unhappily. The proximity to so many strangers with his young when he was still not at one hundred percent strength made unease swell in his throat like bile and he choked, holding Kirian closer and moving faster through the crowd.

 

 Clinging to his control over his instinctual panic, he grit his teeth when someone accidentally backed into him and kept walking before the healer had chance to recognise him. He needed to get out. It was too much, too suffocating. He needed fresh air and the sky and the trees. He needed his pack. Where the bloody hell was Fenrir? With anger burning brightly now as well as unease, he began to duck and dive through the masses to reach the doors.

 

 Suddenly a hand locked around his arm and he jumped, snarling out in instinctive defence, only to whirl around and find himself face to face with Remus. The man blinked, surprised at Harry’s greeting for a moment – only for a moment. His expression softened immediately and he released Harry’s arm in favour of bringing his hand to the small of his back. “Making your escape?” the man asked gently.

 

 Harry tried to smile but the panic and the effort to stifle his wolf in this situation, while easy now he had found a sort of peace within him, was making him light-headed with his body still in recovery. With Fenrir apparently having abandoned him.

 

 “Come,” Remus said when Harry could not answer, gently guiding him through the crowds quickly and calmly, until the doors opened and the fresh, biting air lashed at Harry’s face. It was very early November now, wasn’t it? Harry couldn’t remember. Actual days meant so very little in the pack. It was all about moons and cycles and seasons and planets. He closed his eyes for a moment as the outside world greeted him, licking at his face with icy fingers and rushing through his hair, through his nostrils until the clinical smell of the hospital was a distant memory. He wrapped both arms round Kirian as he let the relief and the outdoors chase away the panic.

 

 “Better?” Remus asked, sounding amused. When Harry opened his eyes again, sure enough the man was smiling wistfully.

 

 “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed but realising that Remus was supporting him, even though the pressure of the battle was over and the possibility of them all dying had dwindled. His support hadn’t. It made all the uncertainty of what was to come, the decisions he had to make and Fenrir’s absence weigh a little less on his chest. Tilting his head, Harry gazed down at Kirian’s face that was screwed up in displeasure against the cold, but soundless, his little nose twitching as he sniffed at the outside world. It wasn’t the smell of trees and mountains, in a quiet, deserted muggle street but it was outside – it was freedom.

 

 “Hermione and Ron firecalled Grimmauld Place,” Remus said after a moment, drawing Harry’s attention back to him. “They said they received your patronus, said you might need a lift.” His face was warm and thoughtful, as it had been all those years ago when the man had taught him to fight of dementors. The face of his parents’ last living friend, of a man who was just as confused as he was regarding what was to come, but was proud of him, ready to accept whatever he chose.

 

  _Snape was right,_ Harry thought with only the tiniest twinge of annoyance. _No one is making me choose – no one that matters anyway. The only person stopping me from making a choice is me._

 

 “You know where we’re going?” he asked as he took Remus’ subtly offered arm, preparing for the uncomfortable pull of apparition.

 

 Remus offered another smile. “I believe you called it home,” he said, before apparition took them.

 

 Harry and Kirian seemed to have the same opinion about apparition. The feeling of being squeezed through too small a space jerked him and he stumbled as his feet touched down on soft spongy grass but Remus’ grip on his arm steadied him. Kirian let out an almighty scream and Harry winced. “Hey now,” he said softly, stroking his back through the soft but strong fabric of the sling. “That’s a horrible sound.”

 

 The air around them was a little sharper, fresher, familiar. It made the weight in Harry’s chest ease a little – just a little. It didn’t make him any less confused or fill him with an epiphany of what love was, what he wanted from life, but he felt safe. He smiled as he looked around at the village of Shae. Everything was as it had been the last time he was here, people were milling about their daily tasks and children were playing out in the cobbled roads without a care.

 

 He’d never seen anything more beautiful and it was made all the more breath-taking for the horror he’d just seen. For nearly losing it.

 

 A few of the faces turned to look at him on hearing Kirian’s squalling, smiling at the sight of him and Harry smiled back sheepishly, bouncing the tiny boy in his carrier gently. “How’d you know the coordinates?” he asked as they started up the grey road.

 

 Remus gave him an odd look. “Ah, I may have been here this morning already.”

 

 Lifting an eyebrow, Harry stared at him. “Oh? How come?” But his question would have to wait for an answer because as they walked into the centre of the village, bathed in crisp early November sunlight, three familiar faces came into view.

 

 “Harry!” Hermione cried as she and Ron dashed the last few feet between them and greeted him with enthusiastic grins, Hermione embracing him tight and Ron slapping him on the shoulder. Kirian was still sobbing, upset from the tug of apparition and Harry winced apologetically.

 

 “Sorry, he really hated the journey,” he said, sliding one of his hands up to stroke Kirian’s hair through his hat reassuringly. It didn’t help. It made a sickly feeling prickle at his belly. He hated hearing him like this.

 

 “Oh dear,” Hermione said with a frown. “Poor little boy. Maybe you should try feeding him? A lot of babies comfort nurse, you know?”

 

 Harry didn’t know, but it didn’t surprise him that Hermione did. Still, as he glanced around and saw Eithne reach them at last and a few other members of the village watching, he didn’t really feel comfortable doing it right here.

 

 “Werewolf cubs are notorious for being more unsettled and needy, in need of comfort,” Eithne said, wrinkled face warm and relieved as she looked at Harry and Kirian. She came around to his side so that she could see Kirian’s pink face. “Oh dear, but he’s a beauty,” she said happily. “May I?”

 

 Harry froze only for a moment, realising how much more easily he could control his instincts since he’d mastered transformation. He wondered if this was the peace within himself that Eithne had once told him her son had had time to master before he’d had his children. He thought so. Nodding slowly, he supported Kirian’s wriggling body with both arms and vanished the carrier, transferring the upset baby into Eithne’s aged but capable arms.

 

 The happiness in her wise eyes was not even slightly tainted by his little bludger’s uproar and Harry was glad of it, it meant Kirian wasn’t really hurt, just upset, it meant it was the type of fussy crying he’d heard Teddy do. He didn’t like the sound but he was beginning to realise it didn’t make him a bad dad just because Kirian made it too. It was a slow process. But one he intended to enjoy every moment of, that much he knew now.

 

 Kirian wailed despite the soft cooing sounds of his great-grandmother, his face screwed up and red. “Oh but you are a bonny little one, aren’t you? Fenrir always used to make that same face when he cried,” she said in a cooing voice, making Ron snort with amusement at the image. Harry smirked too, even if Fenrir’s name reminded him of the aching absence in his chest. The hollowness. Their bond buzzed more prominently now though, he knew he must be around somewhere.

 

 “Do you like him?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself as he watched Eithne try and console her sobbing great grandson. “His name is Kirian.”

 

 Eithne just beamed down at Kirian’s red face, in love. “He’s beautiful, Harry. Shae and Adair would have been so proud.” She slid her wrinkled thumb in between Kirian’s fingers, letting his hand clench tight around the digit. He was still crying. “What a set of lungs,” she mused and Harry smirked, relieved. Eithne was Fenrir’s only family left, blood family anyway. He wanted her to like him, as pathetic as that sounded.

 

 “Sorry he’s a bit whingey,” Harry said, but did not try to take his little bludger back. As much as everyone would probably excuse his possessiveness, he _wanted_ her to hold Kirian, wanted her to love him and he wanted Kirian to experience a grandparent the way he’d never got to. A proper family. The thought made his eyes sting a little. Kirian would grow up surrounded by love, by an extended family of mismatched werewolves, wizards and witches, he’d be so loved, safe and warm. Far away from the cold loneliness of his own childhood. Not just Kirian – Harry as well.

 

 With a sudden biting clarity, it hit him like a heavy blow to his gut that winded him. He lost his breath as he realised for the first time, what he had to do. He’d asked Ron and Hermione to meet him here on a whim, on instinct but now he knew why. His heart had been calling him back here. He knew this was right, not just for Kirian, but for him as well.

 

 He felt like home was just beyond the boundary of the village, in the mountain he could see in the distance, surrounded by trees. His heart lifted as he stared at it, everything warm and excited and safe, the way it’d felt every time he returned to Hogwarts after a gruelling summer with the Dursleys. Except this was different. Because while he’d been forced to leave Hogwarts every year, this was somewhere he could stay – forever. Somewhere filled with love that was just his own.

 

 Emotion swelled in his throat and it felt dry. He blinked hard, conscious of everyone watching him. And that Kirian was still crying. “Come on, Kirian,” he said softly, but the boy was being difficult today. He was tired and hadn’t liked the hospital at all, which didn’t help. He was about to suggest he feed him maybe in Eithne’s cottage but then Ron spoke.

 

 “It’s a nice village and all,” Ron said, looking round, taking in a deep lungful of air. “Where are we? Is the pack nearby?”

 

 “We’re in a secluded stretch of North Yorkshire, young man,” Eithne said without looking away from her grandson, bouncing him firmly, confidently in an attempt to stop his cries. “Far and away from the muggle population. The entire area is property of Fenrir’s pack, protected by them. We’re self-sufficient, as you’ve seen with everything we need. I believe your friend will have her work cut out for her though, she’s had muggle comforts her whole life, has she not?”

 

 Ron and Hermione looked to Remus. “Tonks has, yes. But I think the only thing she and Andromeda will miss is the television. Perhaps we can try setting it up to work with magic instead of electricity…” He looked thoughtful. Harry stared.

 

 “You’re…? What?” he asked, awestruck. “What did you say?”

 

 Remus blinked. “Ah, yes, well, Tonks and I came by earlier, with Greyback. He seemed to think we might need a bit more persuading to consider life with the pack.” He looked uncertain, apprehensive but also hopeful. Something Harry had rarely seen in Remus’ usually resigned expression. Both he and Tonks had probably always assumed he would die an early painful death because of the toll of his rough transformations but now there was hope.

 

 Harry felt dumbstruck. “Fenrir was with you?” he demanded, voice slightly higher than normal, Kirian’s rising to match, stubbornly not surrendering to Eithne’s consoling humming.

 

 Remus frowned. “I assumed you’d asked him to? And that’s why you asked to meet Ron and Hermione here. He suggested if I found my first moon… _suitable_ that Tonks, Andromeda, Teddy and I could build a house here in the village. We have no home since the Tonks house was taken out in the war and Grimmauld Place is…”

 

 “Grim,” Ron put in. Remus nodded.

 

 “Kreacher could even come – he seemed quite pleased once we’d assured him he could bring some of Regulus’ things,” Hermione said excitedly. “It’ll be so good for him too, a new start.” She squeezed Harry’s arm. “Remus is apprehensive, he wants to see how he handles the moon with the pack first, which is understandable but…”

 

 She kept speaking, her face bright and optimistic as well, her voice excited and Harry wanted to join her, to share that excitement and anticipation – on some level he did. Remus was honestly thinking about letting the pack help him, about embracing a part of him he’d loathed nearly all his life, he would live longer because of it. And perhaps selfishly, he was glad that Remus, Tonks, Teddy and Andromeda would be so close. That Hermione and Ron were so enthusiastic. But he couldn’t get his head around one thing. It stuck in his head like a sticky barb.

 

 “Has Fenrir been with you this whole time?” he asked, brow still furrowed, voice uncertain.

 

 Remus looked utterly bewildered. “Only this morning. Hasn’t…hasn’t he contacted you at all while you’ve been in hospital?”

 

 Suddenly Kirian wailed louder than ever and Harry turned to him, but as he did so, movement caught his eye and he looked down the road that wound around Eithne’s cottage to see a great silver wolf staring at them, ears slicked back, legs rigid. Slowly he stalked forward, head low, wary.

 

 Ron, Hermione and Remus tensed on sight of him, at his stance. Eithne glanced up, but seemed unconcerned, bouncing Kirian determinedly. “Now then, enough fuss,” she said gently, “you’re alright.” She reached down then and caught the dummy that was tucked into the pocket of his onesie and poked it into his mouth. His little eyes opened as he sucked it in, hard and the noise stopped. “There, now we can see that face properly,” she said happily, Kirian’s tearless eyes staring up at her in curious wonderment.

 

 Harry wondered if werewolf newborns could sense who was family and who wasn’t, but was distracted because then Fenrir had reached them, sniffing carefully at them all but mostly him. As he stopped directly in front of them, Fenrir morphed back, eyes rimmed with gold but shining brightest blue. He stared at Harry, silent.

 

 “Put some clothes on you beast,” Eithne admonished, “no one wants to see that.” She swept her plain grey shawl off her shoulders and threw it at Fenrir, who didn’t look away but tied it round his waist in a sort of sarong, so that Ron, Remus and Hermione were a bit less uneasy, not so concerned about where to look.

 

 “Don’t take after your alpha, little one,” Eithne said to Kirian, who cooed happily up at her, looking as if he were trying to smile but couldn’t quite, not yet.

 

 “I smelled you,” Fenrir said, voice low, gruff as ever while he stared at Harry, looking uncertain somehow, even if he sounded unperturbed. Harry hadn’t heard his voice in what felt like forever. The bond between them hummed contentedly, with warm rightness that filled his chest to bursting point. Harry exhaled slowly, trying to reacquaint himself with the feeling of having him there after what felt like so long.

 

 “I smelled you and then I heard Kirian,” Fenrir continued, glancing to where Eithne had Kirian well in hand now, absolutely smitten. When he met Harry’s eyes again, he looked tentative still and yet pleased, almost relieved at the sight of him. That was it. Hot anger rose up like a charmed serpent and Harry took the final few steps to him, slapping him hard across the face, glaring.

 

 “You’re the absolute fucking _limit_ , you know that?” he snapped. Ron, Hermione, Remus and Eithne seemed to scatter, determinedly looking away and murmuring something about an ‘ideal site’ as they edged away. They left Harry standing there, scowling up at Fenrir and shaking slightly, overwhelmed by everything that had happened and now the sight of Fenrir, safe and whole and…

 

 “I’d just _died_ and come back and you left me there!” Harry snarled, cursing the hurt that licked at his voice. He didn’t want to be upset or hurt, he wanted to be angry _._ Bloody _angry_ damn it!

 

 “They kicked me out!” Fenrir snapped, cheek red but already healing. “Your bloody mate Kingsley had to step in so they didn’t arrest me.”

 

 “Says the man who chased me all the way to London and howled outside Grimmauld Place until he was shown the way in?” Harry countered. He didn’t care if some would say he was being unreasonable. “Ron and Hermione were there, the Weasleys showed up briefly – even Snape came to see me. Where were you?”

 

 Fenrir grit his teeth. “You were sodding unconscious! Besides, you’ve just killed the Dark Lord, haven’t you? It’s not like you need me. It’s just like you always said, if I gave you a wand or control over your werewolf magic then you could take care of yourself. You can make your escape now without a care.”

 

  _“You’ll be waiting for an eternity for me to choose you… I’ll never want you. I’ll never respect you and I’ll always keep trying to escape. This is a prison to me, not a life!”_

Harry winced as he recalled his words. They felt like years ago rather than months. So much had changed, so much had happened. He felt like a different person now – essentially the same but stronger, more confident with his eyes opened and wiser. But still Harry. “You – I _told_ you, I’m not any different just because I have my magic back,” he snapped. He remembered that time in the garden at Grimmauld Place and wondered how Fenrir had so easily forgotten that.

Apparently he hadn’t. “Of course you said that when you needed me to face _Targarletum_ still,” Fenrir said dismissively, “but it’s over now, right? You don’t need me? You want to take our son and everything else and escape me, right? Well bloody _go_.”

 

 Harry flinched as if slapped. Some of the villagers edged back in their homes at the shouting, his friends and Eithne and Kirian were nowhere to be seen. The hurt in Fenrir’s voice was evident only to him, even if they probably heard his shouting back in the den. His fear was so heavy in the bond that Harry was choking on it, suffocating as it mingled with his own until he could barely breathe.

 

 “You’re talking bollocks because you’re afraid. I needed you!” Harry growled, hating the way his voice broke. “I needed you and you didn’t come!”

 

 “And what stopped you from walking out of there?” Fenrir seethed. “You knew where I’d be all this time and you only just turned up. The only thing I want to know is why it took this long. Did they print something else vile in that sodding paper about you? Decided you needed a last holiday? Lose your nerve?” He stepped forward then, gripping Harry’s throat and flicking his head to the side so he could drag his nose across Harry’s pulse, pounding with frustration. “Or did you want one last goodbye fuck?”

 

 Heat lanced Harry’s belly at that word in _that_ tone, right against his ear. He shuddered, fighting it before wrestling himself out of Fenrir’s grip – trying to at least. Fenrir gripped his upper arms hard, dragging him into Eithne’s cottage roughly until they were in the spare room again. He kicked the door shut and tossed Harry down on the bed.

 

 “Come on then, pet, let’s get it over with, yeah?” Fenrir growled, wrenching off the shawl covering his already hardening flesh before crawling up the bed, kneeling over Harry. He tugged at Harry’s trousers. Harry snarled in negation, shoving hard at his shoulder. Fenrir caught the hands and pinned them above his head, staring down at him with such a conflicted expression that it froze Harry in place for a moment.

 

 “Let’s get you seen to so you can piss off back to your wizard life,” Fenrir grunted.

 

 Fenrir was afraid he was leaving, was hurt that it’d taken Harry so long to decide to come after him. It was all such a mess in his head and Harry felt it throb warningly, messed up and half-aroused, angry and upset. But not confused. Because he knew; he knew what he was going to do and he knew exactly what Fenrir was about.

 

 “If you’re so certain that I’m leaving you then why did you go to Remus? Why did you suggest he live here, so close to the pack?” Because he knew Fenrir wanted to do right by Remus, had always regretted what he’d done but the look in Fenrir’s eyes told him it wasn’t only that. He could feel it in his own chest as if it were his own. The truth had stopped Fenrir’s tirade more thoroughly than any slap.

 

 “I wanted…” Fenrir trailed off, looking vulnerable for the first time in his life and apparently hating every moment of it. He visibly grit his teeth and released Harry, but when he tried to draw away Harry seized both of his arms, locking his legs around the back of Fenrir’s knees to hold him in place. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. They were both as incapable of expressing emotion as each other but now there was nothing else. Only them.

 

 “I hoped if you saw you didn’t have to sodding choose, you might come back, alright?” Fenrir snapped accusingly, voice harsh, raw glaring at Harry challengingly. “I made adjustments to things I thought you’d be missing. That I thought might make the difference.” It was as if he were daring Harry to laugh or walk away now, knowing what he did, after seeing him vulnerable. Perhaps it was the sight and feel of that raw hurt, that vulnerability, or even everything that had happened in the last few days, nearly losing everything that made Harry see it all so clearly, but he knew now what he wanted. It wasn’t to walk away.

 

 Using all the strength in his arms and legs, he hauled Fenrir closer, pressing his nose into the man’s collarbone and inhaling, eyes closed, body just relaxing, unwinding. The anger ebbed away and his eyes stung again. Then he released Fenrir’s hands and reached up, wrapping his arms round his neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, almost too quietly into Fenrir’s skin. “I was afraid I’d have to choose, I didn’t know what to do but I…I don’t have to choose. We can make it work and you have and…” He licked his dry lips, nose still buried in the indent at the base of Fenrir’s throat. “I was afraid. But I’m here now.”

 

 Fenrir was still for a moment, then he let out a low, rumbling growl, mixed with hurt, relief and affection. It soared in Harry’s chest until he thought his heart would burn up with it. Fenrir’s forearms braced his weight off Harry but did not allow any space to come between them. His hands slide up to knot in Harry’s hair at the base of his neck, tugging his head back so their eyes could meet.

 

 “You don’t need me,” Fenrir said, his voice so low and rough with emotion that Harry thought the man’s throat might tear open with it. It was as if he didn’t dare believe what Harry was saying.

 

 Harry did give a snort of laughter then, eyes too bright, voice unsteady as he replied. “Not for killing things or protecting me from Dark Lords, no. Just everything else.” He didn’t really know what love was, not really, but the thought of not being here with Fenrir, of not seeing him again, or not raising Kirian with him, not touching him, or falling asleep next to him, running with him under the moon – even arguing with him. It hurt. It hurt worse than having his throat cut with silver and this? This felt so right, in spite of both of their flaws, in spite of everything. If this wasn’t love, it was good enough. More than, in fact.

 

 Fenrir’s mouth was so close, Harry felt it when the man licked his lips and felt his stomach flip with anticipation because he knew what was coming. Fenrir let out a sound of strangled pained relief and smashed their lips together, hard, firm. His stubbly mouth prised Harry’s open. He groaned into Harry’s tongue as he caressed with his own, his hand at the nape of Harry’s neck tugging his head back further so the kiss could deepen.

 

 “I should let you go,” Fenrir growled between kisses, thumb brushing the mark at Harry’s throat that would bind them together, even if Harry did walk away and they never saw each other again. “But I’m too fucking selfish.”

 

 Harry grunted, tilting his head to the side to nip at that bottom lip and slide his tongue inside when the mouth parted in a surprise gasp. “Good,” he countered, warmth and comfort spreading through every inch of him until he felt dizzy with it. He gripped Fenrir’s hair firmly in his fist, holding him close even when they were breathlessly just melding their lips together in slow, languid caresses, noses touching, breath mingling.

 

 “Mine,” Harry murmured against that mouth, feeling it twitch with a smile before it took his again, tongue sliding along the side of his then flicking at the tip the way he liked it best. But then one of those large hands slid down between them to his trousers and Harry gripped his arm, stopping him. “No.”

 

 Fenrir froze, tensed and drew back with a frown. He looked confused. Harry smirked, sliding out from under him and snatching up the shawl, tossing it at Fenrir. “My friends are out there waiting for me,” he said, because no matter how accustomed to his werewolf nature he became, part of him was still human, still averse to the idea of fucking while his friends were nearby. Besides which, with the anger abated, he felt uneasy not knowing where Kirian was.

 

 “Let’s wait and do it in our bed,” he added when Fenrir tied the shawl around his waist, grumbling his displeasure. He seemed to take the interruption better at those words, but Harry secretly thought that was because Harry had called it ‘their’ bed more than anything else. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud, of course.

 

 They made their way back out into the November sunshine, following the scents until they found Remus and the others by a spot of land near the edge of the village. Eithne was explaining elaborately about materials and speed of the build when she and others caught sight of them. Harry smiled reassuringly (if a bit embarrassed) to his friends as he joined them, fighting the urge to take Kirian back in favour of letting Fenrir hold him. Though he suspected Fenrir wouldn’t admit, he’d missed Kirian so much, it was obvious in the way he wrapped his big arms round him and drew him in close, staring at him as the tiny boy stretched and gurgled happily.

 

 “Shall we head over to the den, then?” Hermione suggested, clearly bursting with interest at this whole new culture. Ron and Remus looked a bit apprehensive but eager.

 

 Then something amazing happened. Something so simple but that in the chilly sunshine, chased away the lingering echoes of pain from the last few days. Harry glanced to Kirian and watched his little bludger stare up at Fenrir and smile. The tiny boy kicked his feet excitedly and honestly smiled. The green eyes were bright and Harry stepped closer to look.

 

 “Look at that, you made him smile,” Harry said, awed, not even a little bit jealous that it was Fenrir who’d coaxed that first smile out of him, not when he saw such a pleased look on Fenrir’s face in answer.

 

 Eithne beamed at the group, patting Fenrir on the shoulder and kissing Harry’s cheek. “He’s a beautiful boy. I’ll have him some new clothes ready next time you visit,” she said, giving Kirian one last loving glance before making her way back into the centre of the village. When Harry looked back to his friends, Remus wore a warm, pensive expression, Ron looked a bit awkward and Hermione just looked ready to burst with eagerness.

 

 “Ready to go home?” Fenrir suggested, the exact words not lost on Harry. He nodded. He was more than ready.

 

_~To Be Continued…_

 

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A/N: At least one more chapter left, maybe more – as I’ve written out the ‘plan’ for the end and it looks like a lot to fit in one chapter. We’ll have to see how far the plot bunnies run with me ;) Either way see you all next week! xxx


	26. Treasure Chest of Living

**Author’s Note:** Sorry for the delay, as mentioned in the updated author’s note of the previous chapter I was wiped out yesterday by a migraine but it’s thankfully gone now. Turns out I was right and I couldn’t fit everything into this chapter ;) So there will be twenty-seven chapters in all for this story and number twenty-seven will be uploaded next Saturday evening. Sorry again for the delay, I hope you like the chapter and see you all next week :D

 

The chapter title comes from the phrase: “Home should be the treasure chest of living” – Le Corbusier.

 

Thanks again for all your support!

 

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.: Chapter Twenty-Six :.

Treasure Chest of Living

 

 

Harry felt unaccountably nervous as the tunnels opened up before them and they all stepped inside. The forest had felt light and welcoming, greeting his lungs, skin and hair to a fresh breeze that made him feel free again. The caves were warm by comparison, like the comforting darkness of the den. He felt Remus, Hermione and Ron tense slightly and walk a little closer as the soft lighting of the columns greeted them. Harry stared back at them briefly, remembering his first time seeing these tunnels.

 

 He thought he could only remember feeling awed by the magic of the place, while plotting his escape from Fenrir too of course. Glancing up at Fenrir as they lead the way down the tunnel, he smiled slightly, thinking of how far they'd come. Fenrir had been uncompromising and brutish, he'd used an entirely selfish way to rescue him from Voldemort that had changed his life forever.

 

 Harry didn't know if he would ever be able to justify that action but then…most of life's worst and best mistakes could not be justified. Dying and nearly losing everything seemed to have made him realise that there were just some things you couldn't find reason for.

 

 He stroked Kirian’s neck as they walked but the little boy was resting contentedly in his arms, cheek on Harry's collarbone, awake but content. All men were capable and responsible for some awful decisions. Even the best intentions could devastate everything. A voice that sounded very like Dumbledore's I his mind said that perhaps men could only be judged then on how they rectified or dealt with the consequences of those decisions.

  
 “They're so beautiful,” Hermione said as they walked, looking at the ethereal columns of light.

 

 Harry smiled awkwardly. “We have these in all the individual dens too, they change depending on the time of day,” he explained, nervous tension easing slightly at the light, easy conversation that followed. Fenrir remained silent, of course but it wasn’t quietness born of tension or fear any longer, but one similar to the comfortable silences he and Harry had shared before. When they came to the gate, Harry could practically taste Remus’ anticipation, Hermione’s excited nervousness, Ron’s uncertainty. He glanced back to his friends with a small smile and watched as a familiar face approached from the other side of the gate to let them in.

 

 Amoux’s eyes were bright as she caught sight of him and Kirian and she beamed widely, wrapping him in a tight embrace as soon as they stepped out into the valley. “We were so worried,” she gasped, voice determinedly _not_ crying. “Alpha told us you were safe, of course but…” Her following words were distorted by dry sobs and she squeezed him a final time before drawing back, holding him at arm’s length the way Mrs Weasley might do, studying him carefully, until she saw Kirian.

 

 Harry gave her an embarrassed smile and turned slightly so she could see Kirian’s unaffected little expression without moving him too much. Kirian just blinked up at the dazzling brightness of the light November sky, not a care in the world.

 

 “He’s stunning,” Amoux breathed, voice hoarse as she edged closer to get a proper look, practically pressed against Harry’s back. “Those eyes…”

 

 “His name is Kirian,” Harry said, feeling proud and embarrassed somehow at the same time. He felt the rest of the pack approaching before he saw them, but noticed that they did not close in, but rather formed a loose semi-circle around them. He glanced reassuringly to his three friends, hoping to convey that they would be alright.

 

 “He who was born in a dark place?” Amoux noted softly, “very apt. Physically and metaphorically.”

 

 Suddenly a sharp inhuman yip ripped through the air and Harry turned to see a familiar grey wolf barrelling through the crowd toward him. Harry lowered himself to one knee just in time to catch a wet, messy lick across his face.

 

 “Harry!” Hermione gasped, “Be careful with him around Kirian.”

 

 Harry said nothing to this, only reached out and dragged the fingers of his free hand through Ghost’s fur, scratching his ears and jowls. He’d missed him so much and he was so glad to see him whole and happy, tongue lolling and tail wagging. “It’s alright Hermione, he’s not like a dog. They’re part of the pack too.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see some of the other wolves scattered around the legs of the pack, watching curiously. Waiting to meet their alphas’ cub, no doubt. Again, Harry felt oddly proud and embarrassed at once – on show.

 

 “Missed you too, boy,” he said in an undertone to Ghost, who was now sniffing excitedly at Kirian’s capped head. Kirian wriggled at the feel of the fur but otherwise remained silent, sucking determinedly on his dummy. He did look quite dishevelled though when Ghost gave Kirian such a fierce lick that it nearly pushed the hat off his head. Harry laughed and stroked a fluffy grey ear before getting to his feet. It felt good to feel Ghost next to him again, to stand on this familiar grass and stare at everyone. It was like relief sweeping through him and he knew he’d made the right decision.

 

 He was home.

 

 Fenrir, who had been silent up until then rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed firmly, though Harry noticed he scratched absently at Ghost’s head when the wolf butted against his free hand. “I spoke to you all this morning about a potential pack member joining us, depending on how he takes to pack dynamics during the next full moon, this is Lupin.” He gestured back to where Remus stood just to the side of Harry, as warm and professional as he had been in their first lesson at Hogwarts. Yet more nervous, apprehensive.

 

 Harry would have told the pack that he expected them to treat Remus with respect, as they would one of their own except he knew that he didn’t have to. He just knew they would, so instead he said, “these are my friends Ron and Hermione. They…they’re like family to me. They’ll probably be visiting a lot.”

 

 “Definitely,” Ron said firmly, but not unkindly, confirming for Harry that he hadn’t been made to choose at all. He wasn’t losing anything.

 

 “Well let’s show them around then,” Accalia cried jovially, stepping forward and gripping Harry’s other shoulder gently for a moment before staring down at Kirian. “It’s so good to see you both. Alpha didn’t say you would be coming or else we’d have more of a welcome for you…” He glanced up at Fenrir for a moment before focussing on Kirian. “You did an amazing job, Harry. We…we’re so happy you’re home.”

 

 Those words made everything in Harry tense for all the right reasons. It felt like a warm embrace squeezing him tight and he floundered momentarily for words. Hermione had such an odd look on her face and Fenrir’s grip on his shoulder tightened infinitesimally. Home. He was home and there was nothing out there trapping him or forcing him or making it a prison, nothing to stop him from choosing it of his own free will now.

 

 Home.

 

 Harry felt his eyes sting as he smiled gratefully at Accalia.

 

 “We’ve got enough for an early supper and some festivities,” Amoux said brightly, “Come Lupin, Ron, Hermione, we’ll show you around.” Harry couldn’t help but smirk at Hermione’s unrestrained eagerness as she led the way after Amoux, Remus and Ron following at a more sedate pace. Remus glanced back to him briefly before the pack swept in to greet Harry and Kirian.

 

 Any lingering nervousness that some may blame him, Harry for what happened with the Conall and the other rogue wolves was swept away as he was hugged and clapped on the back, scented and even cried on. Even Larentia had spared him a hug when Raquelle had finally let go of him, still stiff from the battle but very much whole.

 

 Hemming and Lupa had been the clap on the back sort, while Marrok (when Harry saw him) stepped forward and held the respectful gap for a moment before pulling Harry into a suffocating, heavy hug. The dark-skinned man looked a little off still, his veins lined with the tell-tale blackness of dark magic, but otherwise he was beaming as ever. Harry felt a little embarrassed at his attention, remembering the crush he supposedly had on him but that was quashed easily by his relief in seeing the man so well.

 

 Kirian gave an almighty cry then, not used to being surrounded by so many bodies and before Harry could even glance down, Marrok had bent so his head was level with Kirian’s squalling face. “There now little prince, that’s a face,” Marrok murmured, voice and eyes soft. “Your whole family is just happy to see you.” Kirian blinked up at him, still fussing without any real tears and flatly refused the dummy when Marrok tried to pop it back in his mouth.

 

 Harry laughed at the petulant expression on his little bludger’s face, catching the rejected dummy in his hand. The newborn’s cries were still a bit feeble compared to the one’s he’d heard Teddy give off but they were healthy and they seemed to have the pack as enraptured as if he were giggling. Harry was forced to remember then how precious and rare Kirian was to them. A treasure. And though the idea of sharing his little gift still made him feel a bit odd, he also _wanted_ to share him with them all. Parenthood was one big paradox, it seemed.

 

 “Err…Maybe if we all go sit down so you can see him one at a time,” Harry suggested, “might not be so overwhelming then.” As they all moved toward the stone courtyard, however, he found two familiar shapes in his way. Echo beamed at them, giving Harry a short nod which Harry returned, while Draco seemed to be assessing him.

 

 “Finally realised what you wanted then, Potter?” he mused, apparently trying _very_ hard to seem haughty and failing spectacularly.

 

 Harry smirked. “Finally. You too, I see?” he replied, carrying on walking toward the courtyard with Fenrir on one side of him and Draco on the other. “Where are your parents?”

 

 Draco looked torn. “Mother is free, thanks to the statement you left attached to your letter,” he said, avoiding Harry’s eye. “She never took the dark mark and your statement, it… Father has had his wand broken and he is under house arrest for the next thirty years, maybe less if he behaves.” He winced as he forced himself to look at Harry.

 

 They all took their seats around the stone circle as they always had for meals before Kirian had been born. Accalia was lighting a fire in the stone hearth at its core and its warming magic was already wrapping around them all as Harry stared into Malfoy’s eyes.

 

 “Potter,” Draco began, “Harry. My mother never did anything to deserve what she suffered as death eater’s wife. And my father did some awful things but in the end he… Well, in accordance with your statement and the pensieve memory of Snape accusing him of letting us all in, even though we all know he didn’t, he’s got off with a punishment that some might say is far too lenient but…” Draco bit his lip and sighed. “He’s still my father. So thank you.”

 

 Harry cocked his head as he settled Kirian on his knee and let his eyes flick to Echo, who was sitting beside Draco and staring at him with eyes that were so proud Harry felt slightly embarrassed to watch. Echo’s hand was resting lightly on Draco’s knee and Draco looked so healthy and happy, untroubled as Harry had _never_ seen him, not even when they were younger.

 

 “What have your parents said about Echo now that they’re back at home then?” Harry asked. He couldn’t help but notice that since Draco had come into view Kirian had calmed somewhat, eyes wide with interest and awe at his presence. _He finds him interesting,_ he thought with amusement, wondering if Draco had noticed that Kirian liked him.

 

 Draco flushed slightly. “Mother is insisting we come to dinner next week.” When Harry laughed at the image that presented, Draco’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be a twat, Potter,” he groused, “I have seen you in labour, you know? And heard the noises you make when you and Greyback are roasting the broomstick – I’m not above using what I know against you.”

 

 “Wanker,” Harry bit out without malice, just as a familiar head of blond curls whipped into view and a small body collided with his side.

 

 “Harry!” Vilkas cried, clambering up to seat himself between Harry and Draco, supporting himself with an unconcerned hand on each of their legs. He beamed delightedly up at Harry, so brazenly pleased to see him that it took Harry’s breath away for a moment. Children were so open, so genuine that it startled him sometimes. He wondered if he’d get used to that after a childhood of darkness or if it would always take him by surprise?

 

 When Kirian fidgeted in Harry’s arms, brow furrowed as he stared at Vilkas, Harry watched Vilkas’ eyes drop quickly to the tiny boy. Those eyes lit up like Christmas. “The puppy!” he gasped, awestruck, leaning heavily forward on Harry’s knee to get a better look at Kirian, so unsteady that Draco had to shoot a hand out to his belly to steady him. Not in the least bit distracted by his own clumsiness, Vilkas looked up from Kirian to Harry, to Kirian again, who was whining uncertainly, overwhelmed by new smells and so many bodies at once.

 

 It occurred to Harry that he just _knew_ that Kirian was feeling overwhelmed, he knew it. The thought was comforting. There was hope that he wouldn’t completely mess this up, despite his own poor example of parenting as a child.

 

 “Why’s he crumple-faced?” Vilkas asked, confused.

 

 Beside Harry, Fenrir laughed, a low, warm grumbling sound that after his respectful silence, made Harry feel… There was no word for it. He glanced to Fenrir, realising how quiet he had been while Harry had spoken with Draco, while the pack had welcomed him back and as he looked at him, he realised just how content Fenrir was. Harry had never seen him so quietly pleased. The expression in those eyes and the feelings pulsing softly through the bond made an odd fluttering, tight sensation in his belly. Flushed and not wanting to betray his feelings, Harry glanced quickly back to Vilkas.

 

 “He’s probably got wind or maybe he’s grumpy because he’s not used to so many people,” Harry said.

 

 Vilkas blinked. “He don’t like me?”

 

 “ _Doesn’t,_ ” Draco corrected primly.

 

 Harry rolled his eyes. “He’s just little and gets scared easily. He doesn’t know how nice it is here yet.” He offered the handle end of Kirian’s dummy to Vilkas.

 

 “I show him,” Vilkas said seriously. “I know all the best trees and hills.” He looked at Kirian’s grizzling mouth and then the dummy again, as if taking a moment to remember what to do with it. Harry thought he must’ve seen at least one of the other children have one, and sure enough Vilkas seemed to remember, for he pushed the dummy into Kirian’s mouth. A little bit more forceful than necessary, as Kirian scowled and blinked in confusion for a moment, before sucking on it fiercely. But there was no harm done and the grizzling stopped.

 

 “He likes me!” Vilkas said delightedly, pushing away from Harry’s lap and bounding across the stone courtyard to his mother, who was approaching with Remus, Hermione and Ron. “Mummy! The puppy likes me!” He beamed as he was swept up into Amoux’s arms.

 

 Music was starting now, the kind of jovial, bright tunes that some of the pack-members played around the dinner circle. Remus, Hermione and Ron looked thoughtful, perhaps surprised at the light, warm atmosphere that was not unlike that of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Draco and Echo shifted down the circle so that they could sit near Harry.

 

 Drawing in a small breath of preparation, Harry rose from his seat and headed toward the fire, where Larentia was now helping Accalia to prepare some meat. She turned to him, confused it seemed, her eyes flicking longingly to Kirian before her mask fell back into place. Harry’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Do you want to supervise the first round of pass the baby?” he asked, trying to make light of the niggling possessiveness in his belly. He wondered if it was normal for a parent to feel so possessive of their baby or if it was yet another part of him inspired by the werewolf in him or his poor upbringing. Either way, he wasn’t going to let it control him.

 

 Larentia cast a cleaning charm on her hands and stood, staring at Harry. “You are sure?” she asked cautiously, but still reaching out without waiting for an answer.

 

 “Yeah,” Harry said, this time finding it much easier to push Kirian into her eager, loving arms.

 

 Larentia’s eyes glowed for a moment and she surrendered a small smile before nodding. “I’m first in the queue then,” she mused.

 

 “That’s only fair,” Harry agreed as he forced himself away from her and Kirian, to sit between Fenrir and Hermione once more. “What’s the matter?” he asked Hermione much later when the food was going round, a spicy chicken that Amoux and Accalia seemed to remember was his favourite. “Do you not like it?” he asked.

 

 Hermione glanced up, shaking her head, looking thoughtful as she sucked a piece of succulent meat from the bone before letting it rest in her bowl as she chewed. Beside her, Ron was gnawing on his share enthusiastically as ever – apparently the good food and festivities sealing his approval on the valley as he talked (and ate simulatenously) to Remus and Hemming.

 

 “Nothing is wrong,” Hermione confirmed when she’d swallowed. Her eyes strayed to Fenrir, who was deep in conversation with one of the other pack members, but with a casual hand resting on the back of Harry’s seat. The _humans_ had been fed first out of politeness, Harry thought, and so the hand behind him was free to brush knuckles against his back now and then, soothing him whenever he glanced anxiously to Kirian, who was currently half way round the circle, having dozed off while being swooned over.

 

 “Then why are you looking like that” Harry asked, confused, sucking some more meat from his leg of chicken. He was surprised when his friend just smiled, glancing around at the festivities pointedly, where the winter sunlight had faded and everything was now illuminated by the cheerful torches and roaring fire.

 

 “This is just…it’s so wonderful, Harry. It’s like a real family and they all love you so much and it’s so beautiful here. So calm and safe. When I thought about it before I honestly thought I’d come here and see you trapped and…” She shook her head, sighing softly. “It’s just not like that. It’s like a paradise or something away from the press and the chaos. It’s perfect for you and I’m…” Her eyes brimmed with tears but she straightened up, squeezing his wrist gently. “I’m just so happy for you. That you finally get to be happy after all this time. So loved.”

 

 Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He wanted to ask her about those last two words, wanted to ask her how she knew she loved Ron, what it felt like but Fenrir was so close and he didn’t feel he could ask. Besides, she looked so honestly happy for him and so comfortable now in the company of the pack. He could see her and Ron visiting often and the image that presented was a nice one. He just smiled shyly and ate the rest of his meal.

 

 When everyone had eaten and Kirian had reached back round the circle, Larentia swept Kirian back up in her arms, eyes bright with the fire and happiness only slightly touched by longing. “You call this a welcome home party? Where’s the dancing?” she called and Harry watched as she gave a careful twirl, bouncing Kirian slightly as she went, the music picked up and some of the pack members moved to their feet.

 

 Unlike the dancing at the courtship meal, this was casual, fun, light. Hermione dragged a reluctant, embarrassed Ron out into the dancing fray, gleeful and rosy-cheeked from the bubbly wine and the happiness surrounding them. Harry watched as Echo rose too, holding out a hand for Draco to take. Draco flushed scarlet and did not take it. “Come on, Draco,” Echo urged, bowing low in a dramatic display that made the two young girls across the fire giggle.

 

 “Absolutely not,” Draco murmured, embarrassed, staring at where Ron was now more easily spinning Hermione round, then to Harry. “You have no idea what type of uncultured, judgemental pillocks I attended school with. I will not have them laugh at me.”

 

 Echo clucked his tongue and tugged Draco to his feet, just as Harry leant over and muttered, “Scared, Malfoy? Maybe you can’t dance, that it?”

 

 Draco lifted his chin. “I wasn’t the one that made a right tit of myself at the Yule Ball,” he countered. “Watch and learn, Potter.” With that, he let Echo drag him out to dance.

 

 When Fenrir stood, Harry felt a rush of nervousness and excitement but to his surprise (and perhaps disappointment) Fenrir merely brushed his second knuckles against Harry’s throat. His eyes were warm. “I’ll be back for my dance in a minute,” he said, scratching at Ghost’s ears before disappearing into the crowd of dancing bodies. Harry frowned, a little confused and let Ghost rest his head on his lap, stroking those silky grey ears thoughtfully. He didn’t realise he’d been staring after Fenrir until Remus shifted closer, sipping at his goblet of sweet wine.

 

 “You really are safe and happy here, aren’t you, Harry?” Remus asked. He was giving him a look similar to the one Hermione had given him. Harry bit his lip nodding as he sipped at his own goblet. Amoux had insisted that one little glass wouldn’t affect Kirian.

 

 “I didn’t realise how much I loved it here until I left,” Harry said, looking now at his dancing friends, at the pack, even at Larentia who was dancing with Marrok with Kirian between them. Everything was so peaceful and happy and Remus had a glow in his eyes when Harry looked back to him that just completed everything. It gave him hope that next time Tonks and Teddy would be here too.

 

 “I think we’ll all have a good life here,” Remus said thoughtfully, “if the full moon goes well.”

 

 Harry sat in comfortable silence with him for a while, the fire, music and happy chattering filling him up to bursting point. Then a thought occurred to him. “Which of my parents do you think carried the recessive gene?” he asked.

 

 Remus set his goblet down. “I have wondered that myself. Apparently another wolf can sense someone who carries it only when the carrier’s blood is spilt. Because of the wolfsbane my senses were limited. I never smelt anything different in you, James or Lily. There is no way to know for sure as the gene could have gone back generations before being noticed but…I can try and find out if you like?”

 

 Shaking his head, Harry downed the rest of his drink. He stared at the firelight reflected off the golden rim for a moment before glancing across at the festivities. Apparently Fenrir had been feeding the wolves as he could be seen now setting down their bowls and making his way through the dancers with another bowl for Ghost, who was watching too, tail wagging.

 

 “It doesn’t matter really, or make a difference,” Harry said at last. “I was just curious.”

 

 Apparently having noticed the direction of his gaze, Remus leant a little closer. “Do you love him, Harry?”

 

 Harry tensed and stared between Remus and Fenrir, who had not reached them yet and had been delayed by a beaming Larentia easing a sleepy-eyed Kirian into Fenrir’s free arm. When Harry found his voice, it was low and uncertain. “I…I don’t really know what love is,” he admitted, hating how young he sounded. But because this was Remus, he met his eye without fear. Remus had come through so much and he’d been there even when he hadn’t thought Fenrir was a good choice. He’d stayed and he’d helped with the Weasleys and the pack and he’d supported him when it mattered.

 

 “I just don’t know. Not after the Dursleys and…well, everything,” Harry continued, burying his face in his hands and cursing his own inability to understand his own feelings. “It’s so fucked up. _I’m_ so fucked up, Remus. I don’t even know and…Fenrir is…” _He’s selfish and flawed and insensitive sometimes, brutish and so many years older, completely different to me and yet…_

 

 Yet he could be so thoughtful, had tried everything to make up for his one mistake even though the wolf in him hadn’t thought of _awakening_ Harry as a mistake. Fenrir was a good man and they _were_ alike in so many other ways.

 

 As if he’d been reading Harry’s mind, Remus said kindly, “Only you can know your own heart, Harry, but everyone is flawed. Part of being in love is caring for that person in spite of those flaws.”

 

 Harry stared, stunned by the raw truth in those words but as he opened his mouth to reply, a shadow fell over him. He glanced up, surprised to see Marrok beaming down at him.

 

 “Want a quick dance?” he asked, tugging Harry up to his feet before he could protest. Harry was still rubbish at dancing but this kind, the kind where you just swayed, turned and swung, he could do.

 

 “You looked far too serious,” Marrok said brightly, “we needed to wipe that expression off.”

 

 Harry smiled nervously, not because he felt awkward or shy but because Marrok clearly adored him and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that. The man grabbed his hands and turned them both so that they spun under their joined hands before facing each other again.

 

 “It’s alright, you know,” Marrok said, still smiling. “I’m alright. With you and Alpha and your little one. I’m not...” He blinked, then turned Harry by himself this time. “The wonderful thing about a werewolf’s extended life is that you have plenty of time to find someone to share it with.”

 

 Harry saw the honesty and sincerity in Marrok’s dark eyes, relieved by them, inspired by them. Then they flicked up and Harry turned, seeing Fenrir standing there, a dopey looking Kirian in his arms, so small in the cradle of muscle. Fenrir surveyed Harry carefully for a moment, apparently either concerned or startled by what he saw there. “Got a minute?” he asked gruffly, indicating Kirian. “I think he needs a feed before going down for the night.”

 

 Giving Marrok a small nod, Harry followed Fenrir toward the achingly familiar path across the grass toward the den. “Coming, Ghost?” he asked and the wolf chomped down his last mouthful of food before bounding after them.

 

 The sight of the door made Harry’s chest tighten, remembering the last time he’d walked this way – or been dragged more accurately by Draco away from the battle and with Kirian trying to make his way into the world. Things were so different now, so much calmer and it felt good. Like coming home.

 

 Fenrir pushed the door open with his free hand and closed it behind them when Harry stepped inside. Things were definitely different. _“I made adjustments to things I thought you’d be missing. That I thought might make the difference,”_ Fenrir had said that earlier.

 

 The den was illuminated by a fire as always, the columns of light glowing as if filled with stars. The bed was in the same place, their furs clean and inviting, in fact everything was except there were… _additions_. Down the curving, corridor like arch he knew lead to the bath, he saw two more doorways. What he made his way toward first, however, was the basinet that stood at the base of the slightly raised platform where the bed sat in the far corner.

 

 The Victorian style basinet was made with rich cream fabrics embroidered with tiny silver wolves, enchanted to pounce on each other and frolic across the dressings happily. Harry was caught watching them for a while, eyes roving the small canopy above it and the soft blankets inside. He turned back to Fenrir, who hadn’t moved from the door, was watching him carefully, as if worried he wouldn’t like it – even if his face was hard as ever. Harry knew better.

 

 “The pack made it,” Fenrir said, “their gift to Kirian.”

 

 “It’s amazing,” Harry said and when he turned he couldn’t help but notice the few other additions to the room. His firebolt leant against the wall by the shelves, his rucksack beside it and the photo album, it sat on the shelf, staring at him from its new home and sending a jolt of horror through him. The letter. He glanced quickly to Fenrir, whose expression was unreadable. Panicked, Harry wet his suddenly dry lips and marched toward the two new doorways.

 

 “What’s through here?” he called even as he walked, feeling panicked, not knowing what to say to Fenrir about the things he’d written in the letter at that moment and trying anything to give himself a few more moments before he’d have to. The first extra doorway, the one closest to the main room was filled with the same magical light columns as everywhere else. A larger, more robust cot sat in the corner with a voile, elaborate canopy dotted with silver stars, the floor was covered in furs, the walls lined with shelves and toys and blankets and things Harry didn’t even recognise.

 

 Harry watched as Ghost slipped away from his side and sniffed at the little wooden blocks lined up along the underside of the cot to spell ‘Kirian’ with the rest of the blocks tidied into neat piles beside them. There was even a little griffin teddy bear, that’s irony was not lost on Harry. He smiled as Ghost found it, snatching it up in his jaws and bringing it over to Harry with a happily swaying tail.

 

 “It’s alright,” Harry mused, “I don’t think this one will bite.” He took the toy and set it on a higher shelf, stroking Ghost’s head gently. He wondered if he’d had a room even remotely like this when he was a baby. He wondered if Fenrir had been thinking about that, if he’d been worrying over what Harry might or might not be expecting when he’d put this together.

 

 The room next door was what came as a complete surprise and stole his breath. It was so simple and yet unexpected that he just froze in the doorway, staring. It was a modest sized room with a rustic wooden table and six chairs. There was a flameless stone fireplace against the far wall, a dormant wizarding wireless in the centre and four huge columns that filled the room with light. It looks so comfortable and welcoming. Harry knew exactly what it was for.

 

 When he felt Fenrir come to stand behind him, Harry didn’t turn at once, unable to tear his gaze away from the table. “Because our den is a bit personal for visitors?” Harry assumed.

 

 Fenrir huffed. “Because I thought you’d want a space to go when your friends visited that was just…well, yours,” Fenrir explained, voice gruff and unyielding. “Your mate Kingsley set that fire up on a private floo system attached only to your Weasley house and Eithne’s. No other grate can access it and you can only go there through it but it’s a gateway to them, so you can see them whenever you want. I don’t want an open floo network where anyone can stumble in here. The security around the valley has been rehashed and redesigned and I can’t have any gaps in the–” Fenrir’s defensive rambling cut short as he obviously realised how increasingly uncertain he was sounding, how much he was betraying as Harry turned to him.

 

Harry had thought he’d known what Fenrir had been up to while he’d been avoiding him but he hadn’t expected this. Fenrir, who hated the wizarding world had given Harry a connection to it, knowing he would miss parts of it, knowing he would miss his friends. Harry knew what a sacrifice that was to him, his privacy, but the thought that he’d done all this purely in the _hope_ that Harry would eventually come home was what made Harry’s throat go tight and dry.

 

 “You must’ve known I’d come back,” Harry murmured, words raw. “You _must’ve_ done.”

 

 Fenrir stared at him hard, Kirian still scowling sleepily up at him. “I’d… _hoped_.” He grit his teeth as if ashamed of the admittance and avoided Harry’s gaze by adjusting Kirian’s blanket around him more precisely. “Why would I have expected you to stay? I knew…I _thought_ I knew how you felt about me. About the fact that I awoke the wolf in you without your permission.”

 

 Feeling trapped again by panic, by not knowing the right words to say, Harry reached for Kirian and pulled him close. “I’ll feed him and set him down for the night,” he said, moving through the doorway and back to the main room. Their bed looked as it always did, cloaked in the semi-transparent veil and filled with furs, blankets and pillows. Harry sat on the edge and shrugged off Fenrir’s fur cloak. He changed Kirian’s nappy then felt Fenrir come to stand at the end of the bed as he drew Kirian close to feed.

 

 “Were you ever going to come get me?” Harry asked after some time, after Kirian had to have been full and was merely nursing for the comfort of it, eyes fluttering as he drifted, little hands curling against Harry’s chest beside his face. Fenrir came closer, sitting beside Harry on the edge of the bed and hesitating a moment before apparently finding his voice.

 

 “I’d have come after you if you hadn’t shown up,” Fenrir admitted, voice like gravel, hand coming to rest against Harry’s throat. He glanced to where Kirian was clearly asleep now, a dribble of milk over his chin. “I’m not a very selfless man. But I tried to be, I tried bloody hard.” His eyes were the brightest blue as they flicked up to meet Harry’s, the lights from the columns reflected within. “I wanted you to make the choice without me there, so you’d always know that it wasn’t…” His face twisted in disgust. “Not whatever your friends called it at first, force or prisoner syndrome or something.”

 

 When Harry floundered in the tide of swelling emotion, in the loss of words, he saw Fenrir chance a look at the photo album through the parted semi-transparent drapes and any hope that Harry had clung to that Draco had destroyed the letter vanished.

 

 “You said that you didn’t want to leave,” Fenrir said at last, “and that you’d never felt more alive. I s’pose that’s what gave me hope. Even if you had written it thinking you were going to stay dead.”

 

 “I meant it all – I still mean it all now,” Harry said, wanting to say more but feeling the urge to set Kirian down properly before he did so. Getting to his feet, he moved down the shallow steps to the main area where Kirian’s basinet sat and gently eased him down into it, taking off his hat and setting it aside, before tucking him in carefully. He hadn’t tucked him into a proper bed made just for him before. It felt odd, but nice – just another part of being relaxed in his own home. He didn’t think the novelty of that would ever wear off.

 

 So lost in staring at Kirian’s sleepy, comfortable face, safe in his own bed for the first time, Harry was startled when Fenrir came to his side, his comparatively large hand brushing gently at Kirian’s auburn flecked locks. “Stop avoiding me,” Fenrir said firmly and when Harry met his eyes, they were focussed on him so fiercely. “He’s safe. He’s home. Talk to me.”

 

 Harry couldn’t help himself. “You? Talk?” he began, taking a few steps back. Fenrir’s arm shot out, wrapping firmly around his waist and hauling him close. The free hand cupped his throat as it had always done, as if protecting it from the sight of imaginary predators and at the same time pushing Harry’s chin up so he couldn’t hide his gaze as he was want to do.

 

 “I know why you kept it from me, what you needed to do,” Fenrir said. “There’s no way in hell I’d have let you walk in there if I thought you were going to die. I know why you did it but I don’t bloody like it. I don’t even know _how_ you lied to me, mates aren’t supposed to be able to–”

 

 “I didn’t lie,” Harry snapped, voice fierce and low, like a growling wolf. He glanced down at Kirian’s sleepy face and shoved back from Fenrir, stalking over to the circle of furs and cushions around the fire, casting a hasty silencing charm around them when Fenrir followed, with a casual pass of his hand. Fenrir didn’t seem concerned or even bothered by his blatant use of magic without effort or wand, not now he knew Harry was staying. So it really had been just that he was afraid Harry didn’t need him, the thought made Harry’s annoyance ease a little – but only a little.

 

 “I don’t particularly like it either you know, but the truth is I was raised so I could walk into that room and let Voldemort kill me. If I didn’t do it, Voldemort would have come back. I _told_ you what horcruxes did, he left one inside me by accident. I’d have been used somehow to bring him back even if we’d killed him,” he cringed at the idea of Voldemort walking around in his skin, using his face while hurting everyone he loved and had to remind himself that it was over several times before he could continue.

 

 “He would have hurt my friends, the pack, you, even Kirian and I couldn’t let that happen, not when I could stop him. Whether it was right or wrong it’s _over_ now, can we just–?” 

 

 “Just forget it?” Fenrir sneered. “Forget that you would have so easily left me behind? We’re meant to be sodding partners and you charged in by yourself and left me. You _would_ have left me if I hadn’t held onto you while Snape pumped my blood through you.”

 

 Harry glared. “You read that letter,” he murmured darkly, “You read it, you must’ve realised how hard it was for me. I was fucking scared, alright? I was eighteen and scared and I didn’t want to leave you behind, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done to walk through those doors and know I’ll never fucking see you again, alright? I was terrified and thinking about it makes me…”

 

 Licking his dry lips, Harry cursed the way his eyes stung. He hoped they weren’t glassy with the angry, overwhelmed tears he felt building. “It hurts to think about. Don’t you _dare_ make out that it was just _so easy_ for me to do because it wasn’t. I’ve faced dragons and dementors and even _death_ and the hardest thing I’ve ever done is to leave you. So _don’t_.” He could understand why Fenrir was upset, but it didn’t give him leave to forget that Harry was too. That he was still recovering from the trauma of everything that had happened, tired, shaky and sick at the thought of what he might have lost.

 

 Suddenly Fenrir was so painfully close again, eyes burning in the firelight and Harry watched, confused as the man reached down to toss the shawl that’d been wrapped around him away, leaving him standing there bare and daring Harry to look away. Harry didn’t. He stared for a long time, surveying him from head to toe, lingering over the nasty raw patches of flesh where the silver was stopping certain wounds from healing as quickly. When he reached out to brush his fingers along the nasty raw skin on Fenrir’s side where the spear had pierced him, Fenrir seized his wrist. Their eyes locked and he was surprised when instead of forcing their mouths together, Fenrir merely leant in, so close that their breath mingled on Harry’s slightly parted lips.

 

 Harry stared, something low in his belly quivering uncertainly as Fenrir gripped his neck, coarse thumbs brushing against his cheekbones and jaw while they stared. “I’ve seen wizards do cruel things in the name of war, power, fear,” Fenrir began, voice low and tender. “You’re the first one that’s ever shown me cruelty in the name of kindness, Harry Potter.”

 

 Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry closed his eyes tight, unable to bear the sight of Fenrir’s anguish and uncertainty, but then Fenrir drew in a shallow breath and it was so unlike him that Harry’s lashes fluttered open again, wide with surprise.

 

 “You’ve suffered and yet somehow you…you’ve shown me that the world isn’t only filled with suffering,” Fenrir said raggedly, frowning as if he still didn’t understand it. “You left me. Like everyone else bloody did.” Those last words were so undiluted and honest, so painful that Harry thought a strained sound of agony whispered past his own lips.

 

 “Not again,” Harry breathed, “it’s over now.”

 

 Fenrir’s eyes hardened. “How do I know that? How do I know you won’t get it into your head that we all needed protecting and you’re the only one who can do it again?”

 

 “Because there isn’t another prophecy hanging over my head,” Harry said. “And because I’m done being the hero now. Everything we do from now on we do together – partners, like you said, yeah?”

 

 Fenrir’s features didn’t soften, but he also didn’t let go of Harry’s face. “So that’s why you’re hiding away in here with me? Because you don’t want to be the hero?”

 

 Harry glared. “No you thick-headed prat, because I want to be with you! You and Kirian and the pack and…urgh, you’re so fucking _frustrating_! Putting on this pig-headed front when inside you’re just a paranoid, scared, insecure–”

 

 Suddenly his lips were taken. Fenrir hauled him even closer, so that their bodies slid together and Harry had to grip his shoulders to keep from toppling back. Fenrir’s lips were firm and slow, coaxing his mouth open with his tongue flicking inside to touch Harry’s, gentle, sliding, languid, unlike their other hard kisses. Their teeth did clack a little as Harry turned his head to deepen it, wrapping his arms round the man’s neck and hanging on, grunting softly whenever that tongue slid just right along the side of his own.

 

 With his head spinning, Harry slid his hands down between them, touching Fenrir’s skin, wincing when his fingertips brushed the man’s wounded side and Fenrir recoiled slightly, grunting in surprised pain.

 

 “Shit,” Harry cursed, “I’m sorry, I–” He was cut short again when Fenrir sealed his mouth with his own once more, urging him down onto the furs around the fire and dipping his kisses lower around Harry’s jaw. Harry rolled his head up for a moment, enjoying the feel of that warm mouth against his sensitive neck and dragging off his glasses to set them aside out of the way. He reached between them, managing to shrug out of his shirt only to feel Fenrir burrow his nose into the hollow of his throat when his upper body was completely bare.

 

 “I love you.” The soft, gruff sound vibrated against his neck, hidden there as if Fenrir was afraid to look at him while he said the words. Such human words. Looking back, there had been so many ‘werewolf’ or ‘Fenrir’ endearments that had meant the same thing. So many times Fenrir had told him that in different ways that Harry could not believe he’d missed it. But he knew it now, with such startling clarity that a soft choked sound of emotion clogged up his throat.

 

 “No more heroics,” Fenrir added roughly, “we’re in this together now, no secrets. Promise me.” When Harry faltered, still too stunned at those first three hoarse words to reply, Fenrir lifted his head, eyes dark. “Promise me,” he insisted.

 

 Harry growled softly, gripping Fenrir’s neck and pushing up to kiss him, hard. He locked his knees around that waist and pushed up with everything he had until he was on top of Fenrir in the furs beside the fire, bearing down on him, kissing fiercely, with everything he had, with things he didn’t even have words for. Then he drew back a little, offering small, tentative licks to Fenrir’s mouth, just inside to the tip of his tongue without their lips touching, his bristly cheek, his jaw. Wolf and human kisses, with chests pressed so close together that their heartbeats were pounding against each other.

 

 “I promise,” Harry swore breathlessly, smoothing his hand across Fenrir’s forehead and into his hair, caressing his scalp as he licked at the tongue that flicked up through open lips to meet his. “The earth, the sun, the moon, the stars,” Harry repeated, until Fenrir groaned hotly between their parted mouths. The hand not knotted in Fenrir’s hair slid down to rest between their twin racing hearts. Fenrir strained up to bring their lips together again in a slow kiss and Harry’s stomach flipped, tense and excited and hurting all at once. He knew what love was.

 

 Love was caring for someone even when they weren’t always right. It was being there for each other, even when you couldn’t fully understand each other and it was pain, warmth and fear. It was home, the moon on his back and the give and take of compromise. Helping someone with what they believed in, even if you didn’t believe yourself. It was self-sacrifice and warm lips against his and one of the strongest men alive breathless and uncertain how to express himself. It was thinking about not seeing that man everyday and knowing how much it would hurt.

 

 “Love you,” Harry answered, “so much.” He felt it through their otherworldly connection as something in Fenrir burned achingly hot. Like Harry’s insides had been doused with cinders from the fire. “I’m sorry I’m so thick,” Harry gasped, smiling when he felt Fenrir’s warm, rough chuckle against his mouth, punctuated with a final kiss before those hands slid down to grip his hips.

 

 “That Malfoy brat was right, you know,” Fenrir said.

 

 “Draco? Why? What did he say?” Harry asked, pushing up slightly on both hands so he was sitting on Fenrir’s belly and staring down at him, carefully avoiding putting any pressure on his still healing wounds.

 

 Fenrir flashed teeth in a smirk. “He said you always won everything, including peoples’ adoration.” Fenrir hesitated for a moment, large hands sliding on Harry’s hipbones so his thumbs could caress the hollows just inside them. “Even Fenrir Greyback’s.”

 

 Harry glanced up to see Ghost was laying dutifully beside Kirian’s basinet, watching them with sleepy eyes and a wagging tail. He realised they might look a bit silly, with Harry sitting astride a very naked Fenrir this way, talking about such embarrassingly intimate, sweet things but this was just his and Fenrir’s and it didn’t matter about anything else. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Harry said, reaching down to rest his hands over Fenrir’s. “Although I think most of them already know.”

 

 Fenrir huffed without really any force behind it and just watched as Harry shifted back to sit across his hips. His hands slid up a little to brush his thumbs over Harry’s flat stomach. Harry remembered when he used to do that when Kirian was inside him and was oddly glad the touches hadn’t ceased just because it was just him now, that Fenrir was still such a tactile person.

 

 Pushing up onto his feet, Harry shrugged off his trousers and then resumed his seat, sliding his half-hard cock against Fenrir’s and grinding firmly. Fenrir’s hands gripped his hips again, moving to guide him into a rhythm but Harry growled softly, playfully and pushed Fenrir’s hands down either side of his hips, pinning them there and holding his gaze. He rocked gently, back and forth, letting his foreskin catch against Fenrir’s length, looking down to where the heads were kissing with a wet bead of pre-emission slicked the touch.

 

 “Love your cock,” Harry said before he could stop himself, flushed and brazen, mind foggy with need. He felt Fenrir’s hands tense under his and flicked his gaze up from under his fringe to see blue eyes glowing. Fenrir was pushing up with his hips now too, helping them slide together and Harry felt confident and unashamed. He pulled one of Fenrir’s large hands up to his mouth, keep the other one pinned.

 

 “I’ve been a bad influence,” Fenrir growled softly, “You’ve got such a dirty mouth now.” Fire coiled in Harry’s belly as one of those stocky fingers caressed his kiss-bruised and stubble-reddened mouth, pushing in gently to greet Harry’s tongue, which flicked against the slightly calloused skin. Harry licked firmly, coating the digit with saliva before drawing a second finger into his mouth and repeating the gesture. The two digits caught his tongue, pinching gently and Harry groaned, rutting against Fenrir’s cock more firmly in response.

 

 When Harry’s spittle covered each of those fingers, he drew back to slide his tongue down Fenrir’s palm, before guiding them to their cocks. Fenrir smirked devilishly, squeezing both of their cocks together in a long, leisurely stroke. “Mmm, I love you like this, pet,” Fenrir murmured, stroking them both slowly, thumb sweeping over their heads, fist slick with spit. Harry rocked into that hand, sliding his free hand up to map Fenrir’s hard torso slowly, tugging the chest hair there before brushing over a nipple. Fenrir’s eyes flashed when he pinched and the hand around their cocks moved faster, until Harry was gritting his teeth and fucking Fenrir’s fist in earnest.

 

 “So hot,” Harry breathed, “Feels like melting.”

 

 Suddenly Fenrir wrenched his free hand out of Harry’s grasp and tugged him down, so that Fenrir could drag his stubbly lips along Harry’s collarbone, all while Harry flexed his hips into the still thrusting fist. He felt Fenrir’s cock drooling as always against his, slicking even further and making everything sticky and warm and… Harry felt his mind go fuzzy. He bit into his lip and just rode the bucking hips, just as Fenrir’s mouth dipped further down.

 

 “Left any for me?” he murmured sexily and Harry tensed as he realised what was about to happen. Fenrir’s tongue pushed up against his nipple, easing the slight soreness with his spittle before sucking it into his mouth. Harry gasped, embarrassed but still pushing into Fenrir’s hand.

 

 “You really have a… _kink_ ,” Harry gasped without malice, at the same time as one of Fenrir’s fingers from the other hand teased his tight bundle of nerves between his cheeks.

 

 “Mmmm,” Fenrir agreed, sucking gently, coaxing milk onto his tongue and making Harry flush scarlet. “Indulge me, it won’t last forever.”

 

 Harry couldn’t say anything to that. He could only reach down to pinch Fenrir’s other nipple in admonishment, relishing in the growl of approval that vibrated through his own chest.

 

 “Fuck my hand, pet,” Fenrir hummed, bicep tensed as he massaged their pricks in a delicious fast rhythm, wet sounds punctuating his movements and a dry fingertip pushing suggestively at Harry’s entrance, just enough to tease his muscles into tensing wickedly.

 

 Harry flicked his hand toward the bed and the jar of clear jelly-like fluid they’d started to keep there before he’d left shot across the room to land beside them. He loved magic. Evidently feeling its landing, Fenrir pulled away from his chest without slowing the strokes of his hand on their erections, and slid his other fingers into the jar, smearing the jelly across Harry’s crack generously.

 

 Hissing at the coolness, Harry groaned, pushing back eagerly to swallow two fingers. There was an embarrassing shininess to Fenrir’s lips and wetness down Harry’s chest, but he ignored it, sitting back to roll his hips and coax those fingers to brush his prostate. Harry dropped his head back, taking it how he wanted it and groaning softly. “I could come like this,” he breathed, relaxing and flushed and content. The hand over their aching cocks sped up for a moment before stopping completely and Harry frowned, glancing down to see Fenrir’s eyes dancing.

 

 “You don’t want to come while you’re full of cock?” Fenrir murmured huskily, dragging his fingers out and pushing a thick helping of jelly up Harry’s slightly opened hole. Harry clenched tightly around it, feeling hungry down there and empty. Fenrir was still talking, shifting up so he was half-reclined on his elbows and licking up the milky stripe leaking down Harry’s torso. Harry flushed but the image of Fenrir’s tongue on his skin made his neglected cock pulse.

 

 “Let me fill you up,” Fenrir whispered, spreading Harry’s cheeks wide so it was harder for Harry to hold the lubricant in. “Let me breed you, pet. Fill your belly up again.”  


 While the idea of being ‘bred’ was still an uncertain subject, the dirty words in Fenrir’s husky tongue made his belly clench. He groaned, happy to play the game and indulge Fenrir’s little kink. Everything felt so simple, so easy, unsullied by guilt or fear. It was just perfect.

 

  _I’ll have to think of a kink he can give up to me,_ Harry thought, even as he shifted forward and wrapped a hand round Fenrir’s cock to guide it to his entrance. He circled his hips, letting just the ring of muscles kiss the swollen glans, lock around the head before letting it fall out again. He felt Fenrir tense under him the third time Harry pushed just the head in, loosening his muscles to take the whole tip easily and a trickle of heated lube slide over it.

 

 “Uhhh, no fucking teasing,” Fenrir grunted, not in control in the slightest, even if he was the alpha, the one with his cock sinking into tight heat.

 

 Relishing the rush of power, Harry left just the head in and clenched around it, reaching down to stroke his cock, tugging on the frenulum so it was pulled taut, just right under the head. With a snarl of frustration and hunger, Fenrir rolled him back, pushing Harry’s legs up over his shoulders and sliding inside with one long, slow, hard thrust. Harry gasped softly in appreciation, enjoying the burn of his thighs stretched tight and the strain of his body pushed almost in half.

 

 Fenrir’s mouth was on his against, hard and bristly, almost savage with want. Harry wrapped his arms round his neck, holding their bodies as close as possible and relishing in the raw, animalistic need that burned bright between them. Everything was hotter, stronger because they had nearly lost it and he knew this wasn’t going to last long.

 

 “Fuck me,” Harry breathed between messy kisses. Fenrir gave a guttural groan as he drew back, sinking slowly back inside and Harry bit at his jaw, grazing it as he rolled his arse back to take Fenrir eagerly. He felt full, hot and slick. He gripped the delicious weight of that cock inside him when it slid in and felt it in his throat. It was so good, so intimate. The knowledge that they had years of this together, exploring each other, loving each other – probably fighting too but really, that was just part of the fire that burned between them. That was alright.

 

 “Yes,” Fenrir agreed roughly, arching his neck to let Harry bite and kiss at his throat as he flexed his hips, arms wrapped around him, gripping his shoulders, holding their bodies tight together as they moved. Harry dug his heels in Fenrir’s back, grinding back into him just so he could drag his cock against that hard stomach and guide the hard, slow thrusts against the place that made his insides clench.

 

 “Harder,” Harry growled through gritted teeth, “No messing around.” He felt Fenrir’s chuckle in his throat against his lips, then all he felt was the overwhelming fullness of cock. He grabbed at his mate’s broad back, digging his blunt nails in and relishing in the sharp grunt of pleasure Fenrir gave, the sharp thrust inside. Fenrir edged his knees up against his upturned arse, trying to get deeper, moving faster, all teasing gone and earnest desire, the rush inspired by their admission roaring furiously through their veins.

 

 “That filling you up nice? Want more? Want me to fill that belly?” Fenrir growled. Harry’s toes curled and he felt his cock pulse thick pre-emission against Fenrir’s stomach, felt his arse tighten and his stomach flip. He was hot all over, as if tingling bursts of electric bliss were erupting all through his body to form a single wave of bliss. Eyes clenched shut, he turned his head to the side, welcoming Fenrir’s mouth to the marked side of his throat and crying out long and hard as he rocked uncontrollably into the overload of sensations stemming from the body above him.

 

 Every muscle slid slickly over Fenrir’s, his chute tight and swallowing up every thrust greedily. If the world fell apart right now he didn’t know if he could pull away. He struggled to get an arm between them, fisting himself urgently, spasms of lust ripping up through his body and making his mind blur with each taunting brush against that place inside him – faster, harder.

 

 “Tell me how it feels,” Fenrir growled, his voice urgent and raw. “Tell me. I need it.” He grazed his teeth over the sensitive flesh of Harry’s mark and Harry gasped, trying to find words again.

 

 “So good,” he answered breathlessly, “hot, all over, melting.” As the movements inside him hastened he let out a ragged groan and stroked his cock faster. “So bloody big in…inside and…” He couldn’t do it. He bit into his lip and just rocked, unable to think of anything else but coming and dragging Fenrir over the edge with him.

 

 “ _Fuck it_ ,” Fenrir rasped against his neck, jack-hammering hard into Harry’s body, his muscles tensing, pulled taut even as he moved, snarling roughly in pleasure as he spilled himself deep in Harry’s body. He kept thrusting even as he leant back on his heels, Harry’s legs sliding down to fall shamefully open. Except Harry wasn’t ashamed. There was no being ashamed of being this open with someone you wanted this much.

 

 Forcing his eyes open, Harry watched Fenrir’s face flushed from orgasm, hard cock still sliding into Harry in small, firm pushes against his sweet spot. Harry stroked himself eagerly, writhing on the invading heat, so hot it felt like a branding iron inside, painting his walls with semen that slicked each jerk against his prostate. When at last he came, it was with a long pained sound and uncontrollable spasms that didn’t stop until his torso and fist were covered with his climax and his body sagged, sated and useless in the furs.

 

 “Bloody hell,” Harry gasped, swiping at his face with his clean hand, closing his eyes against the dancing fuzzy lights and just waiting for his breathing to return to normal. He felt the ripple of a cleaning charm over his skin and appreciated it, but could not find strength to give that appreciation words, not even when an equally clean Fenrir slid onto the furs beside him and pulled one of them over them both.

 

 “Hmmm,” Harry eventually managed as Fenrir nosed into his neck, pulling him close with slightly shaking arms. “Are you sure I didn’t really stay dead?” Harry asked. Before he could wonder if that probably wasn’t the best thing to say to Fenrir, the man gave a tired huff of laughter against his ear.

 

 “I don’t care if we are, that was fucking brilliant,” he muttered, sliding a hand down Harry’s chest to his belly, where it rested. Harry wondered if Fenrir just liked his stomach. He’d have to ask him one day. He had plenty of time to find out. When at last everything calmed, Harry cancelled the silencing charm around them and twisted his head to check that Ghost and Kirian were still ok, before resting it on the arm that had snuck round under his neck. The fingers brushed his sweaty dishevelled fringe back from his face and Harry smirked shyly at the unabashed adoring look in Fenrir’s eyes.

 

 “Thank you for the extra rooms you made. Kirian’s is amazing and the…my room, it’s…it’s perfect.” All the more meaningful because Harry knew deep down Fenrir wanted him all to himself, to stay with the pack and not interfere with the wizarding world at all. But he’d given Harry a gateway directly back to it, to his family and with a place to invite them back when he wanted. Which would be often, though he had a feeling Fenrir wouldn’t mind too much. Because this was Harry’s home too now and he’d want him to make himself comfortable here.

 

 “I hope Remus likes it here,” Harry said thoughtfully after a while, staring up at the soft shapes his tired eyes were creating in the dimness of the ceiling above. The columns of light were dimmer now, casting a soft blue glow that was so calming Harry could almost fall asleep. Almost. “I know the full moon will go fine, I just don’t know if he will adjust.”

 

 Fenrir mumbled something unintelligibly, but then when Harry turned his head a little to look directly at him, that mouth quirked into a lazy smile and the broad fingers tugged playfully at his fringe. “When he tastes the freedom, the healing of the full moon with the pack, without wolfsbane he won’t have any reservations,” Fenrir said simply, completely believing his words. “I think pack life would be too overwhelming day to day, but that’s why Eithne will arrange to have the house built after his first moon here. He can come and go as one of us as he pleases. His kid and mate can even use the floo to come here, if they don’t want to walk all the way.”

 

 Harry stared. “I know you always wanted to do right by Remus,” he began, but before he could finish, something in Fenrir’s eyes stalled his words.

 

 “He’s important to you as well,” Fenrir said bluntly. “You’re so blindingly selfless, if your little friends are happy and easily accessible then you’re happy. That’s as much inspiration as wanting to…try and undo some of the evil I did to him.”

 

 Harry wanted to argue that what had happened then had been a misunderstanding, but he knew Fenrir wouldn’t appreciate it right now. So instead he turned fully in the man’s arms and rested his forehead against his mate’s chin. “I do love you,” he said, hoping the words would chase away the darkness clouding Fenrir’s eyes. He felt the arms around him tighten at little. “It took me a long time to realise what it was I was feeling.”

 

 Fenrir said nothing in answer, but that was fine, he’d never be a man of words and Harry already knew the things he really needed to hear. They lay there like that for a moment, until Kirian woke them with a pitiful cry and they both rose, Harry pulling on his trousers as he picked up Kirian and Fenrir moving naked into their bed, where he sprawled lazily, stretching as he watched Harry approach. Ghost licked Harry’s elbow on his way up to lay on the foot of the bed, making Harry smirk as he relaxed back against the heap of cushions at the head, bringing Kirian to his chest without a thought.

 

 Perhaps it was because he was still exhausted from everything that had happened as well as his well-deserved orgasm, but it took him a moment to realise that Fenrir was propped up on one elbow. Watching Kirian feed thoughtfully, Fenrir was brushing his knuckles down one of their little bludger’s chubby legs.

 

 “Alright?” Harry asked, still a little embarrassed at being watched while he did… _this,_ he didn’t want to ruin the moment or their newfound openness by hiding. Resigned to the fact that there were some things he’d still find embarrassing, no matter how much sex he had or how in tune with his wolf he became, he cupped Kirian’s back with one hand and reached out to flick Fenrir on the chin smartly. “Hey.”

 

 Fenrir blinked. “Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet Harry’s. “I was just thinking, how I missed so much when he was born, that’s all,” he finished roughly.

 

 Harry’s mouth twisted, thinking of the moments that should have been, but had been stolen from them by circumstance. He glanced down to Kirian’s content face as he fed. “You came as soon as you could,” he said, but when his gaze locked on Fenrir’s face again, the man looked apprehensive of what he was about to say.

 

 “Would you ever have more?” Fenrir asked at last, voice as gravelly as ever, his face unreadable but his uncertainty licking at the bond loud and clear.

 

 Harry frowned, brushing Kirian’s soft hair back with his fingers. “I love him,” Harry said honestly. “I didn’t realise how much I would. But I’m…I still don’t know about that whole pregnancy thing and giving _birth_ and all this it’s…it’s emasculating. It makes me feel like a woman and I don’t like it. But I do love having him, I do…sort of like feeding him, in the way that it’s a bond only he and I can have. But I really don’t know if I want to do it all again – I’m still looking forward to getting chest hair back.” The last of his words at least seemed to soothe the disappointment evident on Fenrir’s face. He couldn’t help but smile at the inane comment.

 

 Harry thought about the pictures that sat in the lounging area of their den, seen but never spoken about. He thought of the four young children standing around a teenage Fenrir’s feet and then also about what Eithne had said about how Shae had had _years_ to get used to the idea of what carrying children would do to him before he actually did it.

 

 “I really don’t know how I’ll feel about it a year from now,” Harry admitted, having matured enough to realise that people changed with time, if he and Draco bloody Malfoy were anything to go by anyway. He smiled at the thought and met Fenrir’s eyes, seeing the barely concealed hope in them. “Two years from now, five years from now I might think differently. I can’t really think about it now – so much has happened and–”

 

 Not for the first time that evening, Fenrir’s mouth silenced his words with a slow, languid kiss that had absolutely nothing to do with sex. There was no tongue, only mouths brushing gently together and then sliding away so that their eyes could meet. “I didn’t mean right now,” Fenrir said, low and warm. “I just wanted to know if there was hope, that’s all.”

 

 Harry smirked. “If seeing Draco Malfoy spawn running around doesn’t put you off more,” he couldn’t help but add.

 

 Fenrir snorted. “Hopefully the Echo in their litter will overwhelm the Malfoy,” he mused, tone as playful and amused as Harry.

 

 “I can tell you now I won’t be having five like your Dad did,” Harry said quickly, much to Fenrir’s amusement. “And it may not be any time soon. I may not feel ready for a long time – if ever.” He was only eighteen. He wouldn’t give Kirian up for the world but he wanted to live now, to experience the things he’d been unable to as much as possible. More children hadn’t even occurred to him until Fenrir had asked. But one look at the brightness in those blue eyes told him Fenrir was more than happy to wait.

 

 “We’ll just have to keep practicing the human way until then,” the alpha chuckled, much to Harry’s mortification.

 

 After Kirian had drifted off again, Harry slid him gently off his chest and into Fenrir’s arms, pushing up off the bed and pulling on his discarded shirt and glasses.

 

 “Where you going?” Fenrir asked, sounding a little bit sleepy and confused. Harry wondered if he’d slept at all while they’d been apart, he’d never seen Fenrir look so tired – and he was still bearing the wounds from the battle too.

 

 “Remus will be taking Ron and Hermione home soon, I want to say goodnight,” he explained, heading over to the door. Ghost leapt off the bed and bounded after him, he slunk out the door first but Harry hesitated, turning back. The semi-transparent curtain around the bed prevented him from seeing Fenrir clearly but he knew he could hear him. “I’ll be back,” he said, for some reason just needing Fenrir to know that he wasn’t being abandoned or coming second to Harry’s friends.

 

 The curtain was tugged aside by the length of one arm and Harry caught sight of him and a sleeping Kirian. “I know,” Fenrir said sincerely. “Now hurry your arse up or we’ll be falling asleep in the middle of the bed.”

 

 Harry’s smile stayed with him as he headed out into the night with Ghost at his side. The festivities were still going, the valley filled with merriment and dancing flames, music and laughter. He saw Hermione being turned round the stone courtyard by Hemming while Accalia, Ron and Remus were locked in rapt conversation. Echo and Draco were nowhere to be seen and Harry thought they’d snuck off to be alone much the same way he and Fenrir had. Larentia was bright-faced and Amoux had vanished probably to put Vilkas to bed. Marrok was swinging Raquelle round through the dancing bodies and Lupa was sitting beside her mate, talking quietly.

 

 Thinking of Ulric, wondering what he would be thinking of humans blending so perfectly with their pack life, Harry smiled sadly and tipped his head skyward, letting the clear, unpolluted blanket of stars act as a balm to his bittersweet thoughts. “We’re all okay,” he murmured to the heavens, then returned his gaze to the festivities around the fire once more, seeing Hermione, Ron and Remus look up at him one by one as he approached them. _Everything is going to be ok._

 

_~To Be Continued..._

 

 


	27. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay – my word processor decided at 1am last night to start crashing after every half paragraph or so and I lost a lot of the original chapter :( I've re-written it though and here we are! :D
> 
> This chapter starts about 7 months after the last chapter and this is the end of Auribus Teneo Lupum but not this story: I intend to write a short sequel that will probably cover Harry's and Fenrir's issues of expanding their family and also show a bit of Draco and Echo. I'm going to take a few weeks off to brainstorm and plan for that story – about a month should be enough. I still wanted to address quite a few things that didn't fit in this story and if anyone wants to put forth some suggestions of what they'd like to see in the sequel please do so – I'd like to hear your thoughts!
> 
> But as for this current story, it's done. Not so sad as there will be a sequel soon so I don't feel like I'm saying goodbye to these guys or to you all just yet. Still – thank you so much for the phenomenal support you've all given me throughout. I can't believe this was a story I started so long ago and never had the courage to post, because you've all enjoyed reading and getting lost with the characters as much as me. You've made this a real thrill and I want to thank everyone of you for sharing this with me. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all of you.

.: Chapter Twenty-Seven :.

The Gift

 

 

_CHOSEN ONE RETURNS?_

_After months of nothing more than rumour since the discovery of Harry Potter's 'farewell' letter to the wizarding world, the Boy Who Lived, 18, appeared before the Wizengamot yesterday to fight for the rights of werewolves in our community. His appearance, it seemed sealed the deal as after seven months of fighting, the Werewolf Rights Act was passed._

_This Act has had numerous names behind it, from our very own saviour to Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt himself! The movement has been closely followed, giving werewolves the right to equal work and education placements, as well as civil rights including those against discrimination (see full copy of Act on page 4)._

_Harry Potter stopped to give a short statement after the hearing, during which he stated that he “couldn't be happier” with the way everything went, as well as his life now. It seems that since he departed the wizarding world with nothing more than a short letter discovered at St Mungo's (where he had been recuperating from his encounter with the Dark Lord), he has been enjoying life with his new 'family'. “I live with Fenrir, of course,” he'd said when asked, seeming perfectly confused at the question of where he was residing now. “And our son. We live with a large family unit, including a close friend of my father's, Remus Lupin and his family. It's wonderful to be surrounded by family, especially being an orphan and all.”_

_Potter was not accompanied by his partner Fenrir Greyback at this time, however. He'd merely given a wistful smile and admitted that he had preferred to stay home with their son, Kirian Potter-Greyback, now seven months old. When asked when we might get a glimpse of his son in the public eye, or if he'd be willing to do an interview on his parenthood, he had offered only that “it's hard, being a dad at 18. I'm still growing up myself. But he's by far the best thing that's ever happened to me.” He'd refused to comment on his young son further._

 

_When asked if his appearance here meant his return to the wizarding world, Potter had said that he “pops out often” to Diagon Alley or to visit friends, to see the places he wants to see, but he always returns home._

_Alongside close friends Hermione Granger, 19 and Ronald Weasley, 19, Harry Potter said that he was immensely pleased with the passing of the law that would enable werewolves to live among the community with as much rights as everyone else. He says he hopes this will mean not only a better future for his son and godson, Edward Remus Lupin, 1, but also hopefully a foundation on which other magical beings can live the lives prejudice has prevented them from enjoying up until now._

_He commented briefly on the scandal of January this year, where it came to light that an unsanctioned operation called The Hunt run by certain powerful members of the community, had unlawfully 'culled' werewolves like infected cattle decades ago. Potter insisted that this type of horrific occurrence only occurs when people are afraid of others who are 'different' and that the only way to show them they can all live together is to make them live together, without prejudice or unfair laws. He says that he cannot take the full credit for the success of the campaign and gestures to the two beside him, insisting that he couldn't have done it without them, or without Severus Tobias Snape, 39, his family and of course his mentor and now Managing Director of the Civil Rights for Magical Beings department at the Ministry of Magic, Remus John Lupin, 39._

_Lupin, a classic example of how a werewolf can live his life as normal, resides in the same rural location as Harry Potter and apparates every day into work, where he continues to fight for equality for all...(continued on page 3)._

 

Setting down the _Daily Prophet_ in favour of sipping at her favourite blend of cranberry and apple tea, Minerva McGonagall stared at the picture that dominated the front page. Harry Potter wasn't her most intelligent or her most stupid student, he wasn't the most eye-catching or ambitious, but he certainly was the most remarkable. _He has overcome so much,_ she thought proudly, sitting back in her chair and staring at the photograph of Harry standing between his two best friends, looking happy and healthier than she had ever seen him. She saw him frequently when he popped by the castle to continue his project with Severus, of course, and she'd seen little Kirian a few times as well.

 

“I'm so proud of him,” she said aloud to the portraits lining the walls of the Headmistress' office, one portrait in particular. She glanced up to see Albus Dumbledore nodding with a soft smile touching his lips.

 

“He has surpassed my expectations and in spite all odds, grown into such a strong, kind-hearted young man, Minerva. I hope you will invite him to tea soon,” Albus said thoughtfully.

 

Minerva nodded. “I shall try and coerce him away from Severus' lab on his next visit,” she said, lifting her quill and dipping it into the ink well. She stared for a few moments at the most recent page of the thick, leather-bound book that was the Hogwarts’ student roster. Already the names for future years were being added and it was with a peculiar little smile that she added to the list: _Potter-Greyback, Kirian._ She had no idea what Potter or indeed Greyback hoped for their son, but wasn't this whole campaign of theirs to give werewolves the choice?

 

_They or their son can decide when the time comes,_ she thought, satisfied. The world was still changing and would change a great deal more by the time Kirian Potter-Greyback came of age to join Hogwarts – if indeed he ever wanted to. But whatever happened, it would be a decision he could make without fear of torment or discrimination. And whatever the world became, it seemed only to be getting brighter.

 

*                      *                      *

 

Harry winced as he slid the knife down over the moth wings a little too quickly, meaning that the slice was a little too big compared to the others. He glanced up and sure enough, Snape was glowering at him. Before the man could open his mouth, however, Harry straightened. “Look, _you_ were the one that said I needed to make myself useful,” he said firmly. He wasn't a student anymore and this man wasn't his teacher. They were a _team_ now, whether the git wanted to admit it or not. They had come to a place of understanding since Snape had had to tell him his fate in the battle with Voldemort, but still, sometimes old habits died hard.

 

Ghost, who sat at his feet and now rarely left his side, cocked his head in sympathy and wagged his tail slightly.

 

“Do tear that diminutive mind of yours from your romps in the forest with Greyback while in this room,” Snape said drolly, “surely you realise what a sensitive potion this is?”

 

Harry flushed but it did not diminish his glare at all. “My hand just slipped. Excuse me if they aren't as _dainty_ as Draco's.”

 

Draco, who had been leaning on his elbows on the opposite side of the potions bench, reading out their transcribed instructions, glanced up quickly. “Steady on there, no need to drag me into your bickering.” He seemed to think about it then and he sat up a little straighter. “And my hands are _refined,_ not _dainty_...”

 

Harry snorted but pushed aside the too-thick slice of moth wing and continued with his work. He felt Snape's eyes on him for a few more minutes and deliberately glanced up. Their eyes locked and he thought he saw the flickers of a smirk play along that hard mouth, before the man continued with stirring the simmering potion in the clear crystal cauldron, adding in ground up dragons claws every sixth stir.

 

“And on the fiftieth stir, stir in the rest of the powder and the sliced moth wings,” Draco read aloud from the parchment their transcribed instructions were written on. Snape nodded, doing so. This had been their ritual for the last few months now. The three of them had produced many failed batches – some that had even exploded with only the slightest misinterpretation of the Original Witch's vague poetry. But Harry just had a feeling about this one. He brushed the finely sliced wings into the bowl and slid it toward Snape, who added them as per Draco’s instructions.

 

“Are you ready for your part, Mr Potter?” Severus asked after a moment, and stepped slightly to the side to make room for Harry. They'd only gotten to this stage twice before and Harry felt a little thrill of anticipation as he accepted the sterilised knife from Snape's hand and pressed the razor edge into his fingertip. He winced at the sharp sting and hastily flicked three drops into the cauldron before his flesh healed.

 

The concoction sizzled as his blood hit the surface, bubbling dangerously. He stepped back, remembering the argument he'd had with Fenrir the last time the potion had literally exploded in his face. This time, however, the brown water effervesced and turned the most vibrant emerald green. The colour of Kirian's eyes. Harry stared at it as it glowed, like a cauldron of Avada Kedavra. Snape and Draco were painted with the light too and as mesmerised by it as he. Ghost stood, hastily edging back, ears pricked in interest.

 

“Add the crushed butterfly cocoons, quickly!” Snape hissed to Draco, who had already snatched up the vial and was sprinkling the rough powder into the potion. Severus gave it three long, wide stirs and withdrew the crystal rod entirely, setting it down and stepping back to stand beside Harry. Draco pushed away from his seat and did so as well and as one they watched the light and liquid merge into a vibrant forest green.

 

“The colour of fertility,” Draco murmured slowly, voice soft with awe. “That's it. It's done. It's ready.”

 

Severus stepped forward, setting the charm to slowly kill the heat so as not to cool the potion too quickly. With a flick of his wand, he cast the necessary protection charms and then turned to Harry and Draco. “Now it must mature for seven days. It should be ready for an attempt at the first ritual on the next full moon,” he said thoughtfully.

 

“ _Attempt?_ ” Draco asked, bemused. “You think we can fail now? The potion was the hardest bit, we've done it. The ritual itself will be easy.” He was cocky, confident but Harry thought he just might be right. If they'd got this far, then...

 

“There won't be the same problem with the rogues again,” Harry said thoughtfully, remembering all those werewolves that had challenged Fenrir for him in their desperation to have children and their belief that he was their only hope. They'd gone the entirely wrong way about it, of course, but they had still died because of him. Ulric had died because of that and the aching knowledge would ease but never truly fade. Wizards had made werewolves like this, making them desperate and turn on each other.

 

_Well, now a wizard is putting it right – three, in fact,_ he thought, determined. “Soon anyone who falls in love with a werewolf can have the same ability as me.”

 

Snape scoffed. At the odd sound, Ghost lifted his head and butted it promptly against the man's long potion-stained fingers. Surprised, Snape froze for a moment, before letting his palm stroke the soft furry head. “Are you going to make them pledge their undying love before you, so you know you can change them without ramifications?” Snape drawled, “some werewolves may force this upon humans, some may go into this without really thinking about the future...” The look he gave Draco made Draco scowl. Apparently Snape didn't know Draco wasn't planning on undergoing the ritual – or at least, he was but Echo had convinced him to wait a while. Harry only knew because Echo had told him when Harry had asked if Draco would be the first to try it.

 

“I know there will be problems, I'm not saying there won't be,” Harry said, sliding onto the work-stool behind him. “I know there will be people who take advantage of it. But that doesn't mean the good people shouldn't be able to be with the one they love.” He saw Snape make a peculiar face at that and all too quickly the man turned and started tidying away the apparatus they'd been using.

“How will the mighty Potter distinguish between the liars and the lovers?” Snape asked bitterly.

 

Harry glanced to Draco, who was thumbing through one of the Original Witch's books leisurely, apparently unconcerned with their tiff. “The ritual can only be committed in good faith,” the blond said without looking up. “The participant cannot take in the 'blessing' if they are tainted with force or hesitancy. It says so in the texts.” He did look up then, pinning both Harry and Snape with a withering stare. “I thought we'd all read these books. Was I the only one paying attention?”

 

To Harry's amusement, Snape cleared his throat in annoyance and started putting things away with much more noise than was necessary. Harry thought he heard the man mutter something about getting 'infuriating ex-students' out of his hair and laughed inwardly, sliding off his stool to start washing the apparatus in the sink moulded into the work bench, as he'd done on so many detentions beforehand. The familiarity of the situation must have struck Snape as well because he paused to look.

 

“Don't worry, Sir, even when the potion is done you'll have to make more,” Harry mused. “We'll be back often.”

 

“And even then, I'm sure we can find something else to come and pester you about,” Draco added as he stacked the parchment and books neatly to one side of the bench. “I'm sure we can think of something to come and annoy you with.”

 

Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a smile touching the hard line of Snape’s mouth. It was brief but definitely there.

 

The sound of the floo chiming cut through the room and Draco pushed away from the bench. “I'll answer it,” he offered, striding across the lab and through the adjoining door to Snape's office. Harry scrubbed at the pestles and bowls until they were clean, then spelled them dry and sent them whizzing back into the corners of the room they belonged in. When he looked at Snape, he saw the man watching him thoughtfully.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked.

 

“Only surprised that you were paying attention to where they went,” Snape admitted, avoiding Harry's gaze by busying himself checking the wards around the slowly cooling clear crystal cauldron. “You realise what this potion could mean for Lupin and his family too, of course?”

 

Harry nodded tightly. He'd learned from Eithne how serious Remus' original fears had been when he'd come to Harry, terrified because Tonks was pregnant. He grit his teeth on recalling how easily he'd dismissed Remus' fears as cowardice before, knowing the man had long since forgiven him and that it'd all turned out right in the end. Werewolves could _not_ beget live young with a human. The werewolf foetus, sharing its blood with the mother would unwittingly infect the mother with lycanthropy, causing her to turn and transform at the next full moon – effectively killing the unborn child. That Teddy had _not_ been a werewolf was a miracle, a one in a million chance that Eithne had suggested was possible only by the potent wolfsbane in Remus' body, subduing the lycanthropy.

 

“I think Tonks is one of the people taking the potion this moon,” Harry said, drying his hands. “If she and Remus were to have another child, even if he were still taking wolfsbane, she would risk becoming a wolf and miscarrying.” He propped his chin on his hands and stared at the soothing green glow from the cauldron. The mix was becoming a more translucent green as it cooled – but no less vibrant. He hoped that meant it was definitely going to work.

 

“Did I tell you we found out Teddy has the recessive gene, like me? He scraped his knee in the village the other day and Fenrir smelt it. Kirian did too – it was quite sweet, actually,” he smiled as he remembered his little bludger's nose wrinkling softly as he sniffed at Teddy's unwittingly spilled blood. “When he's older, if he chooses to be bitten, he'll awaken like me. Tonks and Remus want to keep it quiet at the moment though, I think they're still a little shocked at the revelation. They want him to choose for himself too.”

 

“Ah,” Snape said softly, “the choice your wolf never gave you?”

 

Harry bristled. “That's not fair,” he replied, slightly wounded, though somehow he knew Snape's comment wasn't born out of malice but his own variety of concern. “We all know it was a selfish, thoughtless thing to do. But you know a man can't undo his mistakes, only make amends.”

 

Snape's coal-black eyes turned to him slowly, assessing, looking surprised to find an eighteen-year-old standing there rather than the scrawny first year fresh from the cupboard under the stairs. “Wise words, perhaps,” he offered. “Ones I may have dismissed for those of a prisoner but sometimes it seems more likely that Fenrir Greyback is a prisoner of yours. He seems to surrender his will to _you_ more often than the other way round.”

 

Harry flushed, a little uncomfortable at the implication that people made often, partly because it was at least half true. Fenrir didn't like a lot of the things Harry did, like coming out into the wizarding world, visiting Snape or Diagon Alley, but he never tried to stop him. Harry couldn't even say that Fenrir 'let' him go because he didn't 'let' Harry do anything. There wasn’t ownership or the need for permission. They just worked, despite all odds and Fenrir accepted that sometimes Harry wanted to head out into the world with his friends, because he always came home to him.

 

“Pray tell, what will you do with yourself in terms of a career?” Snape began with a clearer, more familiar voice. “I realise you are a gentleman of leisure with his arms full of squalling child at the moment but what about when he has grown? Because I can tell you now, Potter, I shall not be recommending you to study under any Potions Masters.”

 

“No worries there, Sir,” Harry laughed. “I'm not sure what I'll do. Remus has a full time job and returns every day, and Draco intends to do the same as soon as his name finishes being cleared with the Ministry. So I could easily do it as well. I can do whatever I want. If when Kirian is grown up I want to open a sweet shop in Diagon Alley or join the aurors, I can try whatever I like. Right now I'm happy just...you know, living.”

 

Snape wrinkled his large nose. “Minerva suggested she might invite you to teach here once your brood has grown.”

 

Harry grinned. “If only to get under your feet, Professor. Maybe I'll apply to be your assistant?”

 

Snape snorted in answer and reached down to scratch Ghost's ears absently. The wolf wagged his tail and slumped into Snape's leg at the touch, enjoying the fuss, now fully grown and filled out, nothing like the scrawny runt he'd been when Harry had first met him nearly a year ago. He seemed to like Snape too, which was just funny, especially as Snape had tried very hard _not_ to like him and was being slowly won over.

 

“Sir,” Harry said after a while, wondering who it'd been in the fire and what was taking Draco so long, but not wanting to waste this moment now he had it. “I just…I never told you. I never would've had the courage to face Voldemort if it hadn't been for you. And all the times you saved my life even though you hated me. Everything you've given up all these years just to get rid of him – more than anyone else has given and...” He grit his teeth, embarrassed and flustered and not knowing how to express his words, as ever. “You're the bravest man I've ever known. Thank you, for everything.”

 

Snape's fingers froze on Ghost's head as he stared at Harry's face, as if gauging if he were telling the truth or not. The awkward suspended silence hung between them for a moment, until: “I do not hate you, Potter. I hated your father. You were an annoying student in your own right and a constant reminder of my failures but I did not hate you then and I do not hate you now.”

 

Harry winced. “Not even when I looked into your pensieve?” He instantly regretted his words when he saw the darkness of that night touch Snape's eyes. “I _am_ sorry for that, Sir. More than you can know. And my Dad...he was a bullying prick back then, I was...I was ashamed to see him like that. I'm sorry.” He spoke fast and clumsily. But the words needed to be said, even if they were awkward and cost him a bit of pride. Snape deserved that much and more.

 

Dying, coming back, growing older, having a child, perhaps they were things he had to undergo before he could realise that, but he did now. Some things were more valuable than pride. He licked his dry lips. “My mother was–”

 

“Do _not_ speak of that memory,” Snape hissed, teeth bared in a mixture of anguish and rage. “It is one I wish I could wipe from my mind and yours. Do not speak of it ever again, am I clear?”

 

Harry swallowed, nodding hard, feeling fifteen again all of a sudden, desperate not to lose the understanding he and Snape had come to in the last few months. “Yes. But I am sorry, Sir. For what they did, for what I did. All of it.”

 

Another silence, this one more strained than the last and with Snape now unable to meet his eyes, instead staring at the entirely translucent forest green liquid in the crystal cauldron. Snape extinguished the fire beneath completely now and added the final protection spell around the cauldron and its contents. “I accept your apology. But you should know that your mother was an exceptional witch and a…a kind woman. She did not deserve to be addressed with the name I threw at her in anger.” Snape shifted uneasily then, as if he wished he could call the words back, he glanced quickly at Harry, then to the door Draco had vanished through.

 

“Sir,” Harry said tentatively. “I...I never realised you knew my mum all that well.” He'd assumed they'd been passing acquaintances at school the way he'd been to some of his classmates. Sirius and Remus had always regaled him with tales of his father, Dumbledore had mentioned his father too as had many of his teachers. So few ever mentioned his mother though, except perhaps Remus once or twice. It was oddly comforting to know someone else knew her, that she wasn't forgotten.

 

“I shall... _tell you_ about her some time, perhaps,” Snape said in an oddly wistful tone, the words sounding as if they were difficult to get out. At last black eyes locked on green again and Harry saw their understanding back again. The two of them were probably the only ones who knew what the other had suffered over the years, in the war and at Dumbledore's side. Only them and that was the foundation of what Harry hoped would be more than understanding. He admired Snape very much, even if he was a git and felt an odd compassion for him, a connection he didn't want to break. Judging by the fact that Snape tolerated him and Draco turning up every week, he thought the man might feel the same.

 

Realising then that he'd seen that look on Snape's face once before, Harry frowned. In the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, when he'd been about to leave and seen Harry standing there, holding Kirian. When he'd approached him as if caught in a trance and…

 

_“You have your mother’s eyes. Both of you do. You are more like her than Potter, no matter what they say...”_

_“He has auburn in his hair, I think he’ll take after mum.”_

_“Good.”_

Those words. The doe in the lake that Harry knew now, thanks to Hermione, had been Snape's patronus. Harry had thought he'd known before but he was certain of it now. Snape. After all this time he…

 

“I'd like that, Sir,” Harry said at last and gave the man a small smile, just as the door opened fully and Draco stepped back in.

 

“It was Eithne, Kirian is fussing for you,” he said and Harry nodded. He'd gotten better at leaving Kirian with Eithne, Draco or Fenrir, he also let Larentia babysit often, as it seemed to make her so happy and Kirian loved her. It was still hard to leave him alone for any length of time, the absence filling him with a feeling akin to homesickness. And worry of course, especially now the little bludger was mobile on his chubby little hands and knees.

 

“Come Ghost,” Harry said as he crossed the room, looking back at Snape when he reached the door. “Thank you, Sir. We'll see you next week.”

 

Snape gave a small nod, his face impassive as ever but the hard line of his mouth twitching slightly at the corners in a telltale manner.

 

 

Harry was greeted by tearless cries as he stumbled out of the fireplace in Eithne's cottage and nearly collided with Draco and Ghost, who'd gone through first. Draco rolled his eyes and drew his wand, banishing the thick cover of soot that always accompanied Harry out of the fireplace. “Whatever did you do before you had me to tidy up after you, Potter?” Draco taunted as haughtily as ever, smirking and tipping his head respectfully at Eithne before sweeping out of the cottage.

 

Eithne was on the settee in front of the fire, Kirian sitting on her knee and fussing, rubbing at his eyes and grizzling in that way that wasn't really crying. “Sorry, has he been bad?” Harry asked, always uncertain how other people judged 'bad' behaviour with children after being labelled bad throughout his childhood. Fenrir had said that he often judged Kirian the other way, _too_ good, in everything, even when he was being 'a little shit' as Fenrir said. It was still a learning process, but he, Kirian and Fenrir were learning together.

 

“Oh no,” Eithne said brightly, staring at her great-grandson with adoration, stroking his mess of dark auburn hair that stuck up at all angles. Kirian looked up at Harry's voice, sniffing visibly with little nostrils and opening his arms up, doing a little jiggle on Eithne's lap in excitement. It was a beautiful sight, to see him so happy to see Harry, giving a gummy smile.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, stepping forward and sweeping Kirian up into his arms, revelling in the shriek of delight that the little seven month old gave. Ghost licked at those tiny toes in greeting and Harry watched as Kirian babbled at him, then started to chew on his fist. “Is that so?” Harry asked, as if he'd said something completely understandable.

 

“He's certain to cut a tooth soon, he's quite warm,” Eithne said. “Be prepared for the tantrums. You'll have a shock, I'm afraid, after having such a content little baby.”

 

“Fenrir says I pander to him too much,” Harry said lightly, wiping Kirian's dummy off and popping it back in his mouth.

 

Eithne rolled her eyes. “A little fuss at this age won't do him any harm. Interaction is important at this age, Fenrir is just focussed on being the 'perfect' father compared to his parents. He was a fair bit older than his siblings and used to boss them around a lot.”

 

Harry nodded, understanding. He wondered how much his poor upbringing and his lack of parents affected how he interacted with Kirian. As if sensing the melancholy direction of his thoughts, Kirian reached out and tried to snag hold of Harry's glasses. “No no,” Harry insisted, unwinding determined little fingers from his thankfully durable frames and holding Kirian a bit lower in his arms. “Were you able to keep up with him, with him starting to crawl?”

 

Eithne raised her silvery-white eyebrows in an expression that Fenrir gave sometimes. “I'm not dead yet, Harry. Even witches with no werewolf in them can live for a long time.”

 

Harry sensed the playfulness in her aged voice and smiled. He had no idea how old she was, but the thought she'd be around for many years yet was a good one. He'd like Kirian to have memories of her he could hold onto. That little fist knotted in his shirt then, in a way Harry recognised and he blushed slightly, clearing his throat. “That's my cue to go,” he said, pausing for Eithne to kiss Kirian's forehead and pat him on the shoulder before he and Ghost stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine.

 

“Where's your alpha then?” Harry asked Kirian, who was always excited at the strange smells and bustling business of the village. His little head swivelled round at every shriek of laughter from the playing children or noise of the chickens that pecked around at the ground as they walked. Harry's watched those tiny nostrils twitching as he sniffed at the world around them, already trying to learn every scent. Harry could recognise scents but he wasn't born with them, a master of them the way Fenrir was, the way Kirian would be – at one with himself, his wolf, with nature.

 

It was as if the horror of his first few days of life had never been – Kirian was always smiling and giggling and captivating the attention of everyone who saw him. It was a nice feeling, one that filled Harry with hope. “I think I'll take you to see Snape again soon,” Harry said to his son, using a softer, lighter voice but not one infused with babyish babbling, not that there was anything wrong with that – Tonks and Hermione used it all the time. He just didn't think he'd ever be capable of it.

 

The three of them found Fenrir by the well. He had his back to them at they approached, hunched over the bucket of water he'd pulled from its depths and plunging large hands into it to   wash his face and neck from dirt. Harry stopped a few feet away just as Fenrir straightened up, upending the entire half-bucket over his head so that the water caught the sun, glistening orange and pink in the afternoon light before splashing down across tight, hard muscle.

 

Harry felt something down low in his belly tighten and he was frozen for a moment, chasing the rivulets of water down Fenrir's body with his eyes. Down over taut skin still bearing the marks of the battle with Voldemort, the silver spear that had pierced his side, the skin pale and stark against the rest of his tan skin. But all his. All of him. It was a nice feeling, one that carried through even as he realised Fenrir had noticed him staring and was now grinning in amusement.

 

Closing the distance between them, Harry lifted his chin in defiance, daring Fenrir to tease him. “Finishing displaying?” he taunted lightly, getting in there first.

 

Fenrir's grin broadened. “I don't need to display, pet, I've already won you,” he said gruffly, setting the bucket down and reaching out with a wet hand to cup Harry's throat, pulling him in close and resting his nose against the bridge of Harry's. They rested there for a moment, both inhaling each other as if it were both the first and last time. Always. Harry reached up to rest his free hand against the marked side of Fenrir's neck in response, feeling the low grumble of appreciation under his fingers.

 

“You ready to go?” Fenrir asked after a moment, “Kirian must be hungry by now.”

 

Slightly flushed, Harry nodded, but as they started walking back to Eithne's cottage to use the floo to get home, Harry paused, staring at the forest that bordered the village. Not Shae, but the other one. The one Harry had fled through on a full moon night trying to escape Fenrir. Back when this had all begun. Harry blinked at the sight of it, having seen it many times but only not just appreciating how different everything was, clear of the fog that had surrounded everything.

 

“Harry?” Fenrir said, “alright?”

 

“Can we walk for a bit?” Harry replied, gesturing to the forest. The look on Fenrir’s face told him that he knew the significance of that request, of the place. Kirian’s gazed fixed on the tassel on Harry's hoodie and he babbled as he pulled at it, trying to shove it in his mouth as they walked. As always a few villagers waved and greeted them as they walked, friendly and warm and Harry even saw Andromeda stooped in front of the recently finished Lupin house, trowel in hand in the flowerbeds, with a messy Teddy trying desperately to help.

 

Teddy, who had been unable to enjoy going outside as much as he should have, due to the war, was now unstoppable and would wail loudly when it was too dark to play. He’d even come up to the valley a few times now to play with the pack children, which was nice for everyone.

 

“He’s going to start teething soon,” Fenrir grumbled warily as they reached the edge of the village and walked into the covering of trees. The waning sun glistened on the leaves, through the gaps in them to paint the forest below in warm, welcoming colours. Ghost dashed through the grass, spinning round and zooming back to their side when they took too long to reach where he stood, before zipping off again, holding Kirian’s attention gleefully as he ran. Harry glanced up at Fenrir’s wary tone and realised that he’d likely had to be on hand to help with his teething siblings in the past.

 

“I forget how much more experienced you are than me,” Harry said thoughtfully, watching as Kirian managed to take hold of his dummy and pull it out so that he had better chance of shoving his whole fist in – hoodie tassel and all. Fenrir’s hand shot forward, catching the falling pacifier before it hit the dirty ground. They’d had _that_ tantrum enough times to not want another.

 

“I should listen to you more, I s’pose,” Harry added, because they still clashed sometimes, of course they did, they were both hot-headed and bad-tempered and neither of them liked to be wrong. Even if Harry was comfortable now as a dad, he supposed there were sometimes he should really listen to Fenrir on, he’d seen it all before, after all.

 

Fenrir smirked, brushing his knuckles against Harry's hip affectionately as they walked the thin stream that ran through the forest. The same stream that Fenrir had mated Harry in a year ago. “Where would be the fun in that?” Fenrir mused roughly. “I like it when we clash.” He wore the most devilish grin that Harry felt heat suffuse his face with colour.

 

“Because of the sex that inevitably follows?” he asked, pleased when he didn’t _sound_ embarrassed. But Fenrir was still grinning, gripping his arm and pulling him and Kirian close so that the dampness from his chest and arms saturated their clothes. Harry didn’t mind much and Kirian didn’t ever seem to mind much of anything – everyone always commented on how content he was, he hoped that was a sign he wasn’t a completely useless parent. Fenrir told him it was.

 

Fenrir’s eyes were bright with late afternoon sun and staring down at him, hand sliding back to cup his neck and coax his head back with large fingers knotted into Harry's hair. “Because you push me to be a better man,” he said, voice low and rough as ever, warm. His mouth twisted back into a smirk then. “and the sex.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and stepped back out of Fenrir’s arms to walk over to the riverbank, the place where the grassy earth jutted out over the stream to form a small ledge – a ledge Harry remembered being vividly pinned to while he’d…

 

“Harry,” Fenrir said again, but his tone wasn’t questioning this time, he knew what was flickering through Harry's head, or at least the feelings that were because he could sense it. He stared at Harry thoughtfully, uncertain as he looked around them, recognising the place as well as Harry did. “This is…”

 

Harry nodded and licked his dry lips, staring down at his reflection in the stream as he edged closer to the ledge. He looked exactly the same as he’d done on that night – if a bit healthier, better fed and his eyes not so big in his face, gaunt from starvation, torture and concern. He looked the same but he _felt_ different. Stronger, more confident, powerful. If Conall or the others were alive to swan in here now he could desecrate them before they touched him. He could uproot the trees and turn them on end without a wand and yes, if he wanted to, he could bring Fenrir to his knees without needing to use magic.

 

“This is where we mated,” Fenrir said when Harry didn’t speak, coming to stand beside him so that Harry saw his reflection too, just as unchanged, but yet different. Fenrir had grown too, yet he looked uncertain now, faced with the memories of their unsteady beginnings. He may have been bigger, stronger, older, but oddly enough Harry had the power between them, because Fenrir loved him and if Harry had wanted it, he would have let him go.

 

“This is where I chose you,” Harry clarified, “remember?” It’d been Fenrir that had insisted that Harry had chosen him back then, had tried to make Harry understand that the wolf in him wasn’t another conscience or being. It _was_ Harry. It was his desires and choices without any mortal inhibitions. Harry knew that now, but it seemed in the light of human love, Fenrir had forgotten, or at least, thought _Harry_ had forgotten.

 

Fenrir watched on as Harry set a wriggly Kirian down on the bank beside him. The boy blinked excitedly at the grass, wrenching up great handfuls as he hauled himself forward onto his hands and knees. He was unsteady but determined and it was a joy to watch as he rocked back and forth on his knees, all while Harry pulled off his hoodie and trousers, shoes and socks.

 

“What’re you doing?” Fenrir asked, as Harry slid into the stream as naked as the day he was born. The water was cool as it lapped at Harry's stomach and he shuddered only briefly before the werewolf in him warmed his blood. He turned in the water and just smiled up at Fenrir, reaching across the bank to strip an excited Kirian of his onesie. Ghost gave him a look that clearly said he was mad and laid down contentedly on the bank, just watching.

 

“Come on, little bludger,” Harry said, pulling his delighted baby toward him and letting his feet kick at the water’s surface. Kirian squealed loudly, kicking faster and nearly clean out of Harry's grip – nearly. Harry wrapped both arms around him securely, Kirian’s smile infecting his own expression as he glanced up and saw Fenrir staring down at them, head cocked to the side, pleased but still confused. Harry took pity on him, they neither of them knew how to express themselves still – that was something they were also learning together, step by step, just like parenthood.

 

“You never thought turning me was wrong before,” Harry said, “You said it was your nature and that you couldn’t fight it, that you couldn’t apologise for doing what your instincts felt was right. Why has that changed?”

 

Fenrir slumped down on the jut of the riverbank and stared down at Kirian’s blissful face as he now tried to squirm out of Harry's grasp to smack at the water with his hands. Harry had to hold him tighter, that was until he remembered he was a wizard and with a flick of his wrist, a buoyancy charm had Kirian bobbing on top of the water as if his entire upper body were supported by a rubber ring. He kicked out at the water excitedly as Harry hesitantly let him sink up to his chest in the water, and began to haphazardly paddle himself round and around Harry's waist.

 

Harry watched him for a moment, until he was certain the spell was true and Kirian wouldn’t upend himself, then met those piercing blue eyes once more. They were so warm he forgot to breathe for a moment. Casting his glance back to Kirian, who wasn’t strong enough to go anywhere except round and around at the river’s edge, Harry stepped forward and rested both arms on the ledge, staring up at Fenrir, waiting.

 

“What I did wasn’t wrong for werewolves,” Fenrir said at last, voice like hot gravel. “It felt right, like what I’d been born to do but you weren’t raised to believe the things I was, that’s what makes it wrong.”

 

Glancing back to Kirian again, who was kicking and punching the water, trying to catch it in his hands, Harry smiled and lifted his chin to Fenrir in obvious request. The man’s brow furrowed but he leant down all the same, bringing their lips together in a slow, hesitant kiss. Harry moaned softly and wrapped his arms round the man’s neck, pulling him closer and sliding his tongue out to coax Fenrir’s mouth into firmer response. Only when their lips were wet with the other’s spittle, tongues tingling with sensitivity did Harry draw back enough to look into that face again.

 

“It was wrong,” Harry said. “I would’ve liked to have the choice back then, but you can’t go back and undo your mistakes.”

 

Fenrir winced. “Nothing I do now can make up for taking that choice away from you,” he said roughly.

 

Harry smiled wistfully. “That’s up for me to decide, isn’t it?” No, just because they were happy now and everything had turned out alright in the end didn’t make what Fenrir did alright, but it wasn’t in Harry to go through life worrying that over and over until it drove him mad. “You gave me a choice when it counted,” Harry said, not knowing what else to say to express his feelings on the matter. “Being happy now doesn’t undo what you did, but being miserable and rehashing the same words over and over won’t undo it either.”

 

Fenrir seemed startled by the sense those words made and Harry scowled, pushing away from the ledge.

 

“Don’t look so shocked. I am capable of intelligence, you know,” he half-complained. There were some things in life you couldn’t endure and _not_ mature a little. At least Fenrir’s chuckle was back at his words and the man was pushing off the loose shorts he’d been wearing to slide into the stream beside him. He glanced briefly to Harry then ducked down to his neck in the water, pushing Kirian forward in the water a little faster and making him screech delightedly.

 

Harry's head tipped back as he watched a few birds flee the nearby trees at the sheer volume of that sound. If Kirian was teething, he’d hear that voice raised in tantrums soon – he couldn’t wait, he thought with a grimace, looking back to his odd little family. Something warm and intangible bubbled in his chest and he had to watch them for a moment, drink it in like the sun on his face. They were his and however things had begun, he _had_ chosen them in the end.

 

Suddenly Fenrir froze, staring at something in the water in front of him and after a second, Kirian did too, green eyes wide and eager, little hands reaching forward just under the water. Uncertainty gnawed at Harry and he tensed. “What is it?” he asked quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“Sssh!” Fenrir hissed and it was then that Harry slowly pulled himself up onto the ledge to see what was happening. A fish about the length of his hand with scales that glowed pure silver even from beneath the surface was swimming between Kirian’s outstretched arms, apparently curious.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked, awed and nervous at the same time – even though he knew if it were dangerous, Fenrir wouldn’t have let it near Kirian. It was a parental instinct, Harry supposed and not entirely unwelcome – it meant he was doing alright.

 

“Silver Scales,” Fenrir explained, voice low, “they taste like shit but their scales are like dragon hide. They swim so fast you can barely see them but around April it’s their mating season, so they’re slower.”

 

Harry watched as Fenrir tilted his head to watch Kirian’s awed expression. The fish swam closer and Kirian’s face lit up as it brushed against his belly. Then Fenrir was watching Harry too and smirking. “What?” Harry asked, amused at the expression.

 

“You’ve got the same expression of wonder as he does,” Fenrir said affectionately and then the moment was lost as Kirian squealed happily, trying to grab the fish that promptly shot off in the other direction, spooked. Kirian whimpered then his lip trembled and Harry thought hearts would break at the sight of it. He wondered what type of adult his little bludger would become as he watched him turn into Fenrir’s chest, upset at the loss of the pretty fish.

 

“Alright now,” Fenrir consoled him, hauling him up into one arm as he moved back to the riverbank and hopped up beside Harry, feet hanging in the water still. “He’s tired, it’s been a long day.”

 

Harry nodded, casting a drying charm on himself and Kirian, spelling the nappy clean and dressing the protesting baby quickly before pulling him close. Kirian protested for only a moment before latching onto him, fussing ceased and mouth hungrily swallowing. Harry winced a the slight ache. “Mmm, there’s definitely a tooth there,” he said warily, shifting slightly to get more comfortable as Kirian fed. It wasn’t embarrassing to do it in front of Fenrir any longer – a long as the git didn’t make any comments. It was most definitely still weird and made him feel…odd, he didn’t think that feeling would ever go away but it didn’t taint the closeness he felt with Kirian because of it and in his little bubble with Fenrir, it was alright.

 

“No biting that,” Fenrir told his son gravely, brushing the corner of the embroidered baby blanket against Kirian’s cheek. “That’s my job.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes but Kirian, for what it was worth, blinked big glassy green eyes up at Fenrir and sucked a little more softly. “Oh Merlin, you’re going to be the parent that he listens to and I’m going to be the one he takes advantage of,” Harry said, going with the arm that wrapped around his waist and pulled him in to rest against Fenrir’s shoulder. He slid his feet down in the water, his shorter legs not reaching as far down but still enough to wet his feet again as he dragged his toes over Fenrir’s calves.

 

“My Alpha was the soft one,” Fenrir said thoughtfully, “my brothers and sister could get whatever they wanted out of him. My Dad was the one for discipline.”

 

Harry listened quietly. It was still rare for Fenrir to talk about his family but it was getting easier. With time, he hoped Fenrir would be able to tell him and Kirian all about them – one day.

 

The sun was setting now, letting a small chill rush up Harry's bare back and he shivered. Kirian was steal feeding but more slowly now, evidently about to drift off.

 

“It’s getting cold,” Fenrir said, “We should head back.”

 

Harry flicked his wrist once and warmth spread all around them, even to the little stretch of water just below their feet. He closed his eyes. “Let’s just stay here for a bit longer,” he said and after a moment, Fenrir gave a grunt of approval, hand sliding up from Harry's back to slide into his hair, massage at his scalp the way he did after they’d had sex sometimes. It was his way of cuddling, or showing affection and while it may not have suited everyone, Harry loved it.

 

*                      *                      *

 

“Blimey, Harry! You look–”

 

“Ruffled?” Hermione suggested quickly, cutting off the obvious direction of Ron’s words. Harry wondered how bad he must look if they could see his just-fucked hair and flushed face through just his head in the fire – usually the flames hid those sort of things.

 

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly, steadying himself on his knees on his side of the grate and running a hand through his hair to try and tame it. It was the full moon tonight and hormones and desires and instincts were running high. He hadn’t forgotten Hermione and Ron were due to firecall but he’d forgotten to care as he’d practically pounced on Fenrir the moment Kirian had gone down for his pre-moon nap. “You sort of…well, you weren’t interrupting but–”

 

“Please, too much information, mate,” Ron grimaced. “I know you all get a bit randy over there before the full moon – I couldn’t miss it after the last time and we accidently walked in on Malfoy and Echo…well, yeah, let’s just say that image is permanently engraved into my skull.”

 

“Thick as it is,” Hermione muttured gently, “It’s the ritual tonight, isn’t it?” she said, steering the conversation back to safer ground. “Tonks is going to take it first, isn’t she?”

 

Harry nodded. “Remus is comfortable now and she’s just eager to make everything safe. I think they’d like to have another baby soon and…well, I think we always knew she’d be the first.”

 

Hermione and Ron nodded. “And everything’s all set?” Ron asked. “You’re all prepared?”

 

“All set,” Harry assured them. “I’ll firecall you in the morning to let you know how it went, err…how does the time difference thing work again?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, clearly impatient – she’d told him about fifty times. “Harry,” she sighed, “honestly. It’s twelve hours. Firecall us at about nine or ten in the morning and it’ll be our night time. We’ll be here.”

 

Harry nodded sheepishly. “Any luck finding them yet?” he asked, referring to her parents, the reason she and Ron were out in Australia in the first place. McGonagall had suggested that some of their memory may be recoverable if they acted quickly enough. Hermione’s expression seemed bright, hopeful.

 

“They’re here in Sydney, I think they’re dentists here which is quite funny really – gives hope that they’ve not forgotten everything. Or at least that it’s not lost forever. We’re going to go see them tomorrow, take it slowly, you know?”

 

The conversation flowed easily as it always did and when Harry heard Kirian whinging from the other room, only then did he realise how long they’d been talking. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages either, they’d only been round, making use of the ‘reception’ room in the den the other day. It was a good feeling, one that took him back to late nights in their favourite spot in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fireplace. He beamed stupidly at his two best friends.

 

“I’ve got to go, Kirian just woke up,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” But as he went to withdraw from the grate, Ron’s voice stopped him.

 

“Err, mate,” he began tentatively and Harry could tell he was blushing now, ears and all. “Not that I really want to know or anything, or that it’s my business or… But…I’ve always wondered. Were you even a little bit gay before you met Greyback or is it just…you know, him?”

 

Harry's face flamed and he stumbled over his words. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it before, but he hadn’t expected Ron to come out with it like that. It’d obviously been on his mind for some time. “I dunno. I never really thought about blokes, but then I never was as obsessed with girls as most of you lot were either.”

 

Ron looked uncomfortable for a moment and Harry _knew_ he was thinking of Lavender Brown. Harry tried to hide his amused smile. “I s’pose thinking back I always thought Oliver Wood was quite fit…”

 

“Merlin’s balls, alright, I don’t need to know,” Ron winced, “I just… I wondered is all. Are you going to go your whole life never…never trying the _other…_ ”

 

Hermione, blushing too cleared her throat awkwardly. “I believe Ronald is concerned you’ll miss not having… _experiences_ with a woman. Other than a few kisses with Ginny.”

 

Harry gave a startled laugh. “I honestly haven’t been attracted to women at all or even thought of them,” he said truthfully. “If you really want to know…err…Fenrir is… he’s more than enough, alright?” They had a _more_ than fulfilling, diverse love-life. It hadn’t even occurred to Harry to want something else. Even now, contemplating it, it didn’t make sense.

 

Ron blinked. “Does he let you do _that_ as well then?!” Ron asked, scandalised and horrified and intrigued all at once.

 

Harry made a choked sound and he thought he could make out Hermione smacking Ron hard across the head with something. But then Kirian gave an insistent wail. “As wonderfully humiliating as this conversation is, Kirian needs me. Talk to you both tomorrow, yeah?”

 

“Night mate,” Ron said sheepishly, rubbing at his head.

 

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, “And Harry?”

 

Harry paused, about to withdraw from the fire.

 

“You’re happy, you’re safe and loved and that’s all that matters. We love you, you know that, don’t you?”

 

“I know,” Harry said softly, smiling at them both. “Good luck tomorrow.” And with that, he withdrew from the fire. Kirian was bouncing with energy as always on the full moon, not ready to turn himself for a few months yet but feeling the buzz and sensing the call even as young as he was. Harry walked in to see him gnawing on the wooden rail of his cot and beamed, scooping him up. “Let’s get you ready, then, hmm?” he suggested, dressing him in a clean nappy and clothes before heading out into the main room.

 

Fenrir was just stepping into the den with Ghost at his side. Ghost bounded over to Harry happily, sniffing all around his knees and waist. He was all nervous energy as well, evidently realising something was different about this moon. “Alright, boy?” Harry beamed, scratching the wolf’s ears before looking up to Fenrir. “Everyone ready out there?”

 

Fenrir nodded, stepping forward and sliding fingers through Harry's just-fucked hair. When their post-orgasmic glow had been interrupted by the firecall, Fenrir had dressed and headed out into the valley to check everyone was prepared for the ritual. He looked more composed than Harry though and pulled Kirian up into one arm, letting the boy pull at his long hair in intrigue.

 

“Lupin and his wife are out there. They’re nervous but as to be expected, I s’pose,” Fenrir said, flicking Kirian’s little nose gently to get him to release his hair. “The feast is about to start, are you ready?”

 

Following at Fenrir’s side to the door, Harry paused with his fingers wrapped round the handle. He glanced up at Fenrir thoughtfully. “Fenrir?” he asked curiously, looking at his little bludger resting happily, so small and pink in Fenrir’s large but gentle arms, a display of strength and gentleness all at once.

 

“What?” Fenrir asked, brow furrowed at the tone of Harry's voice. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly, honestly. “Ron just said something and it got me thinking, that’s all.”

 

“So?” Fenrir prompted when Harry still hesistated.

 

Harry flushed. “I don’t even think I want it really or... I s'pose I'd just like to know that I could, if I wanted to…”

Fenrir frowned. “Well whatever it is, you definitely won't if you don't tell me,” he said impatiently. “What is it?”

“Would you ever let me fuck you?” Harry asked in one uncertain breath, watching as Fenrir registered his words. There was no disgust or even shock, no anger, just a little furrow of that brow.

 

“It’s not really my thing,” Fenrir admitted with a wince, shifting Kirian up in his arm as he regarded Harry unflinchingly. “I’ve been raised as a wolf, to feel…I dunno how to explain it.”

 

Harry saw Fenrir drag his fingers through his hair in a gesture that he’d gotten from him and that small intimacy eradicated his embarrassment somewhat. “You’ve just always thought the dominant wolf and the submissive wolf are always the same position in sex,” he said, clarifying.

 

“It sounds narrow-minded when you say it like that,” Fenrir complained lightly, “it’s not that, you know it’s not. It just feels odd to me. I don’t really think I’d like the idea, if I’m honest it’s not… _natural_ to me, you know?” He stepped closer then and caught Harry's chin, not letting him look away in embarrassment or awkwardness – not ever. “I’d say you were pretty dominant sometime when we fuck. You’re not a woman just because you’re…on the bottom, or however you want to phrase it. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know that,” he said impatiently. “I give you just as good as I get.” He relished in the playful smirk that touched Fenrir’s lips before he continued. “To be honest the idea feels weird to me, sort of…unnatural, I guess, like you say. I’m not saying I want to, right now I don’t. I just needed to know–”

 

“If you really wanted it, if I’d let you?” Fenrir asked, an eyebrow raised and voice oddly soft. “Have I ever refused you anything you really wanted?”

 

Harry glanced to Kirian then, who had flopped forward, resting his head against Fenrir’s shoulder and staring at Harry contently as he sucked his little fist. Harry smiled. “You make me sound really spoiled,” he mused, “but I s’pose you’re right.”

 

“Oh, I do love the sound of that,” Fenrir chuckled, pulling open the door to their den and leading the way out into the valley. “If you really wanted it, I’d try it,” he confirmed as they approached the stone courtyard and while Harry sense his distaste for the idea, the fact that he was willing to try if Harry decided he wanted it someday in the future was enough. He couldn’t imagine wanting it, in all honesty; the way things were just felt _right,_ natural, freeing, but if he ever did…

“You’re a good sport,” Harry said jovially and slid his hand into Fenrir’s as they walked, Ghost barrelling ahead into the excitement of the preparations. The fires were being lit, the torches burning bright in the dying light as the moon approached. Fenrir’s fingers tightened around his.

 

 

Everyone was gathered round the main fire in a circle, the wolves and the pack all fidgeting with nervous excitement. Harry stood in the centre by the fireside with Tonks directly in front of him, wearing a loose white wrap. Draco passed Harry the bowl with the potion and exhaled shakily, glancing from Tonks back to Harry again. “You remember the words?” he asked Harry, who nodded in answer, biting at the inside of his mouth nervously. “You have to say them over and over, three times as you pour it through your fingers over her skin. Then you have to tip the last drops onto her tongue and say the final word once more, alright?”

 

Harry nodded again, trying not to get annoyed with Draco, who was only trying to help but was inadvertently making it worse. “Got it,” he clarified through gritted teeth. “We’ve been over it loads. I’m fine, I…” He glanced up at the sky. They didn’t have long. It had to happen just before the moon rose.

 

Draco gave him a final reassuring glance before stepping back into the circle beside Echo and an anxious looking Remus. Harry tried to give Tonks a smile that spoke of confidence. “Ready?” he asked and her mouth twisted, eyes and hair changing to her preferred fuchsia as if it gave her strength.

 

“Ready, Harry. Let’s get it done.”

 

Slowly, Harry raised the bowl and Tonks knelt in front of him, pulling the wrap down just enough to expose her shoulders. Harry took in a sharp breath, waiting for his voice to steady before he began. “In nomine amoris,” he breathed, voice rough with nerves but perfectly audible and clear. He tipped the bowl so that some of the potion slid onto his fingers. He cupped the clear bright green liquid for a moment as he spoke. “Veritatem tantum.”

 

His chest heaved and sweat beaded across his brow. He felt sick with nerves and he glanced up just once to see Fenrir’s holding Kirian, face unconcerned, patient and Remus, eyes wide but trusting. Tonks had closed her eyes now, preparing for the potion to anoint her skin and Harry licked his dry lips again, clearing his throat, remembering the words Draco and Snape had made him recite until he could say them in his sleep.

 

“Mutatis mutandis. Amor vincit omnia. Participem me donum.” As the last syllable rolled off his tongue, he parted his fingers and let the cool, tingling liquid drop slowly over Tonks’ forehead. He moved his hand, so that the slow droplets painted her cheeks and chin as well. He saw the bright glowing potion glow brighter on contact with her flesh and his fingers tingle as the magic began to flow. He shifted on his feet, confidence blooming. It was working. It was going to work!

 

“In nomine amoris. Veritatem tantum. Mutatis mutandis,” he began again, holding the liquid in his fingers to let his magic gather in the small well there. Heat bloomed in his flesh where it touched him, glowing with almost blinding force. “Amor vincit omnia. Participem me donum.” He let it spill across her neck and shoulders, and the hands that held her wrap in place. He felt the excitement and trepidation of those gathered. No one had done this since the original witch, no one had even _heard_ of the ritual before Eithne, Draco, Snape and him had put this all together from long lost material. This was a life-changing sight, one that had every eye, even those of the children who did not quite understand, focus with rapt attention.

 

This, combined with the new laws formed the beginning of rebuilding everything they’d lost. This was everything to them, more astounding to them than the death of Voldemort or anything else. Harry felt under such pressure to make this right for them, for Remus, for Tonks. He felt his hands shaking as he realised how many futures lay in them right now, in the last well of potion created by his cupped fingers. Nausea so potent that it made his head spin rushed up through his belly, a combination of nerves and potent magic coursing through him to make him dizzy. He clamped his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

 

“In nomine amoris. Veritatem tantum,” he whispered as the magic buzzed through his skin, radiating from the spilled potion on Tonks’ body until the forest green light was brighter than the fire. “Mutatis mutandis. Amor vincit omnia. Participem me donum.” The world was tipping but he pushed down in his feet, grounding himself, forcing the magic in his bones to pulse through his fingers as the potion fell, sliding down her chest beneath the wrap until the green glowed clear through her coverings at her stomach.

 

Tonks gasped this time, her voice raised only in surprise, not pain as the light filled the valley and she shuddered. Harry dropped to his knees with the force of the magic shaking his body with tremours. He grunted as he forced himself up, swiping his fingers through the last of the potion. If he’d not felt such an overwhelming burn of the magic coursing through him like all-consuming lava, he would have blushed awkwardly as he smeared it across Tonks’ mouth with shaking fingers.

 

“Participem me donum,” he said, loud and clear, squinting as Tonks gathered the potion off her lips, swallowing and the light consumed everything and he collapsed. Her hands shot out to steady him even as his head hung limply. Everything was electric power and a rush of sharp, fresh wind that smelled of leaves and earth and the ocean. Then the light faded and Harry was able to blink weakly, coloured spots dancing over his vision as he slowly adjusted to the subtle glow of the torches and the fire.

 

It was done. He grit his teeth, forcing his head up to see Tonks’ face. The potion had completely vanished, but wherever it had touched seemed to be painted with clear glittering dust that was slowly fading the longer he looked at her. She smiled at him, squeezing and rubbing his arms where she held him upright. “Wotcher, Harry,” she said brightly, her voice slightly hoarse with emotion.

 

Harry beamed, breathing heavy but in relief as well as exertion. Those in the circle closed in and Harry felt the familiar pressure of Fenrir’s hand on his shoulder, helping to steady him when Tonks released his arms to pick up the dagger at her side. She winced as she dragged it lightly over her palm but as soon as the blood welled in the shallow cut, every wolf in the valley let out a sound of celebration. They could smell the difference. It had worked!

 

Cheers and shrieks and dry happy sobs filled the air. Everyone was clapping Harry and Tonks on the back, embracing and congratulating Tonks and Remus. Still dazed from the exertion of the ritual, Harry let it all happen, smiling giddily when Remus and Tonks embraced him, when he met Echo and Draco’s eyes and nodded slowly. It was all alright. They’d done it. Remus and Tonks would live and long and happy life together as would every werewolf and mortal couple that came to undergo the ritual. And everyone that sharedthe gift would then be able to pass it on to others. It was such a freeing, thrilling feeling that his smile spread wider and he wondered vaguely if Teddy would be here next full moon. He hoped so.

 

“Welcome to the pack,” Harry managed eventually as they all stepped back, preparing for the imminent arrival of the moon. “You remember what Draco and I told you about interacting with the pack under the moon, yeah?”

 

Tonks, still beaming and breathless, tied her wrap more securely around her and nodded. “I remember,” she said, squeezing Remus’ hand a final time before he stepped back from her a few feet. “Harry,” she whispered. “ _Thank you.”_

 

Harry glanced from her to Remus, whose eyes were warm and bright in the firelight, so full of love and happiness and gratitude that it made Harry feel dizzy all over again. He slowly lowered himself down to the ground, sitting with crossed legs as Fenrir stooped to push a fidgety Kirian into his arms. Those bristly lips brushed against his jaw until Harry turned. He caught those eyes, staring into them for a warm, extended moment before he pressed his mouth to Fenrir’s briefly.

 

“Proud of you,” Fenrir murmured against his lips and Harry smiled again, sitting Kirian in his arms so that his face was against Harry's chest as Fenrir stood back. He knew Kirian wasn’t afraid of the wolves or the pack when they were changed, but he didn’t think he’d understand the sight of his daddy morphing grotesquely like that until he was older. As he had done before, he shielded his little bludgers eyes until the cracking of cartilage and bone had ceased and the valley was filled with wolves.

 

His own moon heat had taken over too now and sweat beaded across his skin as the moon kissed the sky. He shrugged out of his trousers and shirt, relief filling him as the cool air touched his flesh. The pack was around him, complete and happy, it made the instincts all that much more soothing as they swept over him.

 

Harry watched as the cubs tussled across the ground, bounding with energy. Draco greeted Echo’s tawny wolf with practiced ease now, running his long, pale fingers through the fur confidently. Remus’ wolf, so much stronger and filled out now, sniffed slowly at a very still Tonks’ neck. Her amethyst eyes flicked to Harry briefly and he nodded encouragingly on instinct, even overcome as he was sensing his pack-mate’s anxiety. But then Remus began to lick at her wounded palm until it healed, then at her face, tail wagging playfully and it was done. It was all fine. The last of the unease ebbed from his body and he surrendered to the freedom of the moon.

 

Suddenly he was butted firmly in the head and he turned to see Fenrir waiting impatiently, apparently not liking being made to wait for Harry's attention. Kirian screeched happily, kicking his feet out and reaching for Fenrir’s massive muzzle. He clapped his hands a bit too hard either side of it and Fenrir shook his head, bumping Kirian’s chest with his nose in reprimand before sniffing heavily at his head of dark auburn curls. The little boy giggled and Harry let out a huff of laughter, smoothing his fingers through Fenrir’s silver fur, relishing in the feel of the silky strands against his flesh, still tingling from the magic of the potion.

 

Still a little weak from the ritual, Harry rolled easily onto his back letting Kirian crawl off him and into the grass, where Fenrir nudged him over onto his side and nuzzled at his belly until he gave another squeal of laughter. Harry propped himself up in his elbows to watch, catching one of Kirian’s socked feet with his toes, stopping him from escaping when Fenrir came to stand over Harry, eyes bright gold. Turning his head to welcome the soft snuffling at his neck, Harry relaxed under the feel of soft fur and a wet nose and tongue, staring up at the blanket of stars above and the comforting brightness of the moon.

 

“Baa ba baa!” Kirian babbled and Harry wrapped his arms round Fenrir’s neck for a brief moment before sliding out from under him and pulling his cub toward him by a chubby leg when he tried to crawl away. He fussed at being held back, but quickly settled when Harry carried him over to the hollow that he _would_ have been born in, where Fenrir laid down and offered himself up as a living climbing frame. Ghost ambled over to them and curled up beside Harry as he sprawled back on the ground, watching as Kirian curled his fists around silky fur, trying to pull himself up onto his feet but failing, instead flopping forward onto Fenrir’s side and clambering up onto him.

 

Grumbling softly, Fenrir gave his son a cursory glance before resting his head on Harry's stomach, large, heavy and warm. Harry crooned back, smoothing his hands against those downy ears and staring into those eyes. When a pink tongue flicked out against his stomach, Harry gave a human laugh and closed his eyes, happiness filling him with such warmth that no magic could touch it.

 

 

When the sun rudely awoke him as morning broke, Harry frowned and glanced up on instinct just once to see where Kirian was. The little boy was fast asleep on his belly on Fenrir’s still wolf back. Harry grumbled sleepily, slowly dragging his little bludger down until he was safely in his arms, warm against Fenrir’s fur and closed his eyes again, sighing softly. A furry muzzle brushed against his side and Harry cracked open an eye just in time to see bright blue eyes blinking at him. He felt the fluffy tail wag subtly at the small of his back and smiled, snuggling in close.

 

Delving his fingers into Fenrir’s fur, hooking his leg around Ghost’s belly and holding Kirian tightly, Harry dragged them with apparition into their den and stretched out in the comforting warmth of their bed. Ghost curled up happily at the end as always, apparently content that all was right with the world. When a very human looking Fenrir pulled the blankets up around them, Harry curled with a sleeping Kirian into his chest and pressed his forehead against the man’s collarbone, fighting to stay asleep. He wanted to stay like this forever. The knowledge that there would be countless other mornings like this though, that made a lazy, contented smile stretch across his face.

 

“What’re you smiling at?” Fenrir teased roughly, coarse fingertips brushing against Harry's jaw until his eyes fluttered open and he drew back enough to stare into blue.

 

“You,” Harry said simply.

 

Fenrir raised a brow. “Oh? Am I funny?”

 

“Very, now sssh!” Harry mumbled, gesturing with his chin down to Kirian before pressing his forehead to the man’s bristly jaw. They lay there quietly for some time in that semi-awake state, the bond between them pulsing gently to announce that Fenrir was overflowing with the same kind of utter peace that Harry felt glowing in his own chest. Hearing the familiar, low growl of contentment from his mate’s lips, Harry smiled and turned his head a fraction to capture those lips in a half-asleep kiss. If this was how life would be from now on, then he couldn’t wait to live it. Every day, surrounded by people who loved him, in his home. With that thought, he drifted.

 

 

THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The ritual words created by the witch (basically a series of statements in Latin):_
> 
> _In nomine amoris - in the name of love._
> 
> _Veritatem tantum – truth/truth only_
> 
> _Mutatis mutandis - a Latin phrase meaning "the things being changed which need to be changed" or more simply "the necessary changes having been made"._
> 
> _amor vincit omnia – love conquers all_
> 
> _Participem me donum – I share the gift._
> 
>  
> 
> **Watch this space for the sequel! Hope I see you all there! :)**
> 
> Love Shigure-san  
> xxxxxxxxx

**Author's Note:**

> _Auribus Teneo Lupum – Latin, for ‘I have the wolf by the ears’ which is a common ancient proverb meaning where someone is in a dangerous situation where both holding on and letting go could be deadly. Similar to our modern day “take the tiger by the tail” or “bull by the horns”._


End file.
